


Insipid Colours - (second year)

by ModernDayWeeaboo



Series: Colours [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Dark Harry, Dark Magic, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Hogwarts Second Year, Legilimency, M/M, Occlumency, Parseltongue, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 188,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernDayWeeaboo/pseuds/ModernDayWeeaboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming off a peak of success from his first year, Harry aims to set the record much higher this year and aim to impress his fellow Slytherins with his talent, charm, and, of course, his venomous snake that demanded to come along for the ride. If only it were that simple.</p><p>Part 2 – 7.<br/>Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets rewrite<br/>Rewritten: 15/September/2016—revised: Not Applicable</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Excogitating at Gringotts

**Author's Note:**

> Insipid: Lacking vigour or interest.
> 
> \--
> 
> All warnings from book 1 apply. I still have no beta...

Chapter 1 – **Excogitating at Gringotts**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 31/March/2016_

* * *

Harry and Lily landed in the Leaky cauldron with a soft crack. Tom, the resident barkeep, greeted them happily and tried to shove various food into their faces and began reciting the deals of the day as they walked by. It took very little convincing the toothless man that they weren’t stopping for an extended time and they were already behind on schedule.

Harry was still wearing the Muggle clothes that he was wearing on the train ride, not that he bothered wearing such things in Diagon Alley, he could have come here naked and no one would bat an eye, besides the Aurors, who’d pin him for indecent exposure. He waited at the stone brick wall that lead into Diagon Alley for his mother, who would open the wall for him as he couldn’t be bothered doing it.

“We can’t take too long here, Harry,” said Lily as she tapped the correct sequence and watched as the bricks vanished, allowing them access to Diagon Alley. “There’s things that we must get done at home and if we get it done early, you can come home early.”

“I shan’t be too long, mother, then we can go home – I mean I can go to the Dursley’s house.”

“Shan’t?” repeated Lily, not used to her son saying that word. “Oh Merlin, you’ve met Peeves, haven’t you?”

“Once or twice,” said Harry, smirking. “How long will I be at the Dursley’s house for? All summer? What about my birthday?”

“It really depends on how quickly we can get what we need to done, then you’ll come home,” said Lily. “I’ll collect you myself at the earliest possible time.”

“And my birthday?”

“We may be able to make a day of it. If not, then we’ll send you your gifts and come around for it.”

“Alright,” said Harry as they walked closer and closer to the large white building. “Oh, I also need to exchange some Galleons for Muggle money, that way if I get starved or something I can at least buy food.”

Lily sighed.

Harry realized that he also needed to find something for Draco’s birthday, which he was going to do during the summer holidays and claim it off as being late, but he couldn’t do that unless it was a Muggle gift, and he was sure Draco would dislike that. Perhaps a Muggle hairbrush.

“Did you hear me, Harry?” said Lily as they walked past yet another store in silence, the conversation now one-sided.

She glanced down at her son, who was walking in perfect stride with her, and frowned, knowing that he was in thought. It wasn’t a bad thing that Harry was a perfection representation of a pure-blood heir, nor was it bad when people assumed that he was, she’d never punish or scold him for that, but for just once she wanted a son that wasn’t scared to get his knees dirty or say mum instead of the more formal mother, even if the setting wasn’t formal. She would always be mother and not mum.

“I asked if you needed anymore clothes,” she said when her son finally glanced up, a confused expression on his face. “I can pick you up some while you’re browsing in Gringotts.”

“No, mother, I have enough clothes,” said Harry, stepping around an old lady. “I was just thinking about what I could get Draco for his birthday, seeing as I had no time to get it while we were at school.”

Lily gave a smile nod in acknowledgement and walked alongside her son, smiling politely at the people who greeted her. She stepped up the marble white stairs and greeted the goblin, as her son did and made her way into the bank. She read the warning and stepping into the building in almost record time.

Harry and Lily spoke to the goblins and climbed into the cart to go to Harry’s vault, which was next to the main vault. The ride was unpleasant as always, but you get used to that as time goes on. The goblin held the lamp and shone it at the cart so the two humans could get out in peace and not trip over the small gap and potentially fall to their deaths.

“Harry, I’m just going to quickly duck into out vault for a second, wait here when you’re done.”

Harry smiled and watched his mother slowly walk towards the main Potter vault, most likely to collect some Galleons of her own. He copied her action and quickly vanished into his vault, the goblin had followed his mother, due to her vault needing more protection than his own. Despite what people assumed, his vault wasn’t lined with Galleons or priceless artefacts, even if he was somewhat wealthy, at least for his age. He slowly walked around a pile of Sickles and Knuts, with small amounts of Galleons near the large pile and stopped in front of the bookcase that was lined across the entire back wall of the vault.

“Engorgio!” he muttered, watching as his trunk returned to its proper size. “Thank Salazar for the fact we can do magic in here.”

He dug around in his trunk, muttering to himself about the history of goblins and how wizards eventually bought down the no magic ward, fearful that it could be expanded, and pulled out the book, which contained the Philosopher’s Stone, and slipped in onto the bookshelf. He made sure that his bookshelf was in alphabetical order, he was going to order it in year released, but some were hard to figure out and it was far too complex to do.

No human could get in his vault, not even his parents, and that’s how he liked it. Who in their right mind would think that an eleven year old boy held a priceless artefact, such as the Philosopher’s Stone?

Before he exited the vault, he picked up a few books on alchemy. After all, now that have had the actual Stone, the real Stone, he’d have to study alchemy on a very in-depth level to understand it. He’d also have to learn how to make the Elixir of Life, which the Stone provided, seeing as Nicolas Flamel was most likely already dead.

“Ready to go?” asked Lily as she stepped out from her vault, at the same time as her son. She didn’t waste any time and quickly made for her son. “Before we leave, would you like to stop anywhere and get something to eat? I’m sure you haven’t yet eaten dinner.”

Harry nodded and climbed into the cart, hoping that the ride up would help him clear his head a little. The ingredients that could be used to make the Elixir of Life flickered through his mind, even with his talent in Occlumency, blocking the constant thoughts was a hard task, excitement was driving him almost insane.

“I heard what happened at Hogwarts,” said Lily as she stepped out of the cart. “With Neville and some sort of stone.”

“Did the headmaster tell you?” said Harry, stepping out of the swaying cart with practiced ease. “I never thought he’d tell anyone anything, at least regarding that.”

“Oh my yes,” said Lily. “It shocks me to no end that something like that happened! He could have died.” She glanced down at her son, who had a rather bored expression on his face, as if he hardly cared if Neville died or not. “Thank Merlin he didn’t die. I’m not sure what I would have done if the positions were reversed and it was you in his position. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing that you were in any sort of danger.”

“Aren’t you lucky that I’m not a Gryffindor and won’t charge headfirst into dangerous situations?” said Harry with a smirk. Clearly Dumbledore kept the fact that he was actually there a secret, not that he minded, as the less people that knew, the better. “You couldn’t pay me anything in the world to try and sneak beyond a three-headed dog, what idiocy.”

“A three-headed dog?” repeated Lily, looking confused. “What has that man been putting into that school? Also, how’d you know what was guarding this stone?”

Harry just hummed and lifted his eyebrows in an almost innocent manner.

“All right, this is the last time I’ll ask, as I know you, do you need or want anything else while we’re here?” said Lily. “I don’t want to come back because you wrote an owl asking for a newly released book.”

“Hmm, I’d like to stop in at Flourish and Blotts for a brief moment, I’d love to get a new book on alchemy,” said Harry as he glanced around, his eyes locked with a stranger, who was staring directly at him. “Although, I may have no time to actually read, let alone finish the book while at the Dursleys.”

The tall man, who was staring just previously, made his way over towards the mother and son with a rather wide smile. He paused in front of the two of them and just smiled, his white hair sticking up in random directions, as if he had just climbed out of bed and decided that he couldn’t be bothered to tend to it.

“Hello,” said Lily as she watched the old man smother down his hair.

“Hi!” said the man, still looking very happy. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I did overhear your discussion. You’re interested in alchemy?”

“Indeed,” said Harry, silently studying the odd man. “It’s something that I really wish to study, such an amazing profession – listen to me ramble on. Mother, why don’t you go to Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour and quickly grab us something to eat on the way? That way we don’t have to stay much longer.”

“Oh no, my boy,” laughed the man. “It’s fine, go on ahead with your mother. I’ll just quickly duck into my vault and then I’ll meet you there and we can have a chat while you enjoy the great range that Fortescue has.”

Harry smiled and made his way towards Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour with his mother. Of course he stopped for a brief moment at each window that they walked by, even if it was something he disliked, just to make sure that the man was still around. He knew, deep down, that the man was an alchemist, an odd one, eccentric, but an alchemist nonetheless and alchemists were rare, very rare. The rarity came from the fact that once they actually became alchemists, they stayed hidden due to what they could do and Nicolas Flamel was a prime example of that, the man pretty much vanished.

He spared his mother a very brief glance, not that she noticed the very subtle action, as they neared Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. Discretion was key. He slowed his step once more and he was aware that she noticed that movement, he watched her closely, noticing a slight line etch onto her normally clear features before it vanished and was replaced with a motherly smile. A line of worry, perhaps?

He knew that his mother cared for him, beyond any normal grasp of a motherly love. Being a Legilimens and a child, the ability reared its head more times than he could control and he learned a lot about her. She would forever worry over him, fear that she would lose him to another accident like what happened when he was six and just recently the troll incident. It could explain why she wants me with Muggles and not in the magical world.

“What would you like to eat, Harry?” asked Lily, sitting down on a chair just out the front of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. She watched as her son sat down as elegantly as possible, as if there were cameras ready to flash near him and she frowned. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

Harry looked up at his mother with a confused expression but it was quickly concealed. “I’ll have a chocolate and strawberry ice-cream with shaved chocolate sprinkled on top, please. Thank you mother.”

The ice-cream was ordered and placed in front of him in record time, in fact he was sure Mr. Fortescue would have ruffled his hair had it not been laced with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and a few stray charms and there to make sure it holds in place and isn’t a mess like what his father’s hair looks like. He slowly chipped away at his ice-cream and waited for the old man to make a return to his table so they could discuss alchemy and that he could find out something about the Philosopher’s Stone.

Harry gave up waiting and pulled out an alchemy book and began to read it, of course he slid aside the small amount of his ice-cream that was left and the large book took up most of his side of the table. It wasn’t something Lucius or Narcissa would be proud of, but he couldn’t sit here and wait any longer, it was eating him up inside. Flicking through pages he finally finds something interesting, but doesn’t exactly have any time to read it because he knows that someone is trying to talk to him.

“Harry, as much as I enjoy seeing you read, you really shouldn’t be reading here,” said Lily as she pushed aside her own ice-cream, which was pretty much finished. “I didn’t know that you were interested in alchemy.”

“It’s recent,” said Harry, confused on how else he could explain his sudden infatuation with the subject. It really was recent. “I heard that Professor Dumbledore was rather decent at alchemy in his earlier days and that encouraged me to try and expand my horizons, seeing as an Alchemist is just as rare as a competent Potions Master.”

“Really?” said Lily, excited.

“It would be a great fall-back job, honestly,” said Harry. “Of course the two jobs differentiate, a Potions Master would stay in Britain, whereas an Alchemist would be all over the place.”

“Please, Harry, don’t use big words,” muttered Lily, ignoring the knowing look on her son’s face. “I love that you’re intelligent and that you know these words, but the rest of us don’t.”

Harry sent his mother a blank look before he masked it with a small smile. “Differentiate is hardly a big word, in fact I’m more surprised you don’t know what it means, seeing as it starts with different.” He let out a long breath. “Recognize or ascertain what makes someone or something different. That’s what differentiate means.”

Lily stared at her son before she slightly shook her head, her son was right, it wasn’t exactly a big word and it didn’t take much to know it and think on what it means. She let out a breath and glanced at her son, who had put the alchemy book away and was now once again eating his ice-cream, or at least what was left of it. “We should get going, I think, seeing as that man hasn’t yet come back.”

“Hm, yeah, that may be a good idea, actually,” said Harry, his face blank. Internally he wanted to complain and whine that he never got a name or even an address so he had nothing to go on and meeting an Alchemist was a rare opportunity that he couldn’t throw away for Muggles. His future in alchemy could take a massive hit and be over before it even started. He smiled at his mother and watched as the small bowl of ice-cream was in vanished. “At least I know that he was British, so that could help me find the man in the future.”

“I’m afraid that you have my accent misplaced, my boy,” said the man, sitting in a nearby chair. His hair looked worse than it was before they first met. “When you spend a vast amount of time in another country previous to your home country, you tend to pick up their mannerisms and speech patterns.” He sat silent for a moment, observing the boy and his mother. “So, lad, tell me what you know so far about alchemy.”

Harry straightened a little. “Alchemy is a branch of magic and an ancient science concerned with the study of the four basic elements, as well as the study of the transmutation of substances; it is thus intimately connected with potion-making, chemistry and transformation magic,” he said, remembering it from the book he was reading a few minutes ago. “Alchemy also concerns philosophy; alchemical literature is dominated by mystical and metaphysical speculation.”

“Well done, but appears as if it’s straight from a book, perhaps the one that you purchases recently?” said the man, smiling. “What do you know of Golpalott’s Third Law?”

“Not very much,” said Harry with a facial expression that almost drew sadness in, as if he was upset about not knowing it. “It’s mentioned in Advanced Potion-Making, but it doesn’t explain anything about it.”

“Before you delve into the art of alchemy, I suggest you search up information about Golpalott’s Third Law, it’s what I’d call the starting ground for such an art,” said the man with another one of his smiles. “The Egyptian Centre for Alchemical Studies is another place you should aim to visit when you’re a little bit older.”

“I never knew that existed! Thank you for the assistance,” said Harry, smiling, his finger twitching. He was about to speak again, but he noticed his mother’s mouth beginning to open and he paused.

“Harry, I’m going to quickly get some parchment, that way you can write us. You’ll be safe here?” said Lily hastily and saw her son’s nod. “Right, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harry watched her leave and gestures the man to sit. “I hope this doesn’t come out badly, but the main reason I’m studying alchemy is to try and find another Philosopher’s Stone, as Nicolas Flamel did,” he blustered out before he paused and looked almost disgusted with himself. He did note the shock and awe on the man’s face. “I mean, Nicolas Flamel had found or created one, it’s not very clear, so I should be able to find or even create another one, shouldn’t I?”

The man sat up a little straighter, his relaxed posture vanished. He watched the boy carefully. “Well, my boy, there could be another out there somewhere or you could be correct, Nicolas Flamel could have indeed made it and only he know show it was made. It’s not a good thing to dwell on an object that can make you live forever.” His dark eyes twinkled slightly. “You’re not the first, and most definitely not the last, to enquire about such an item as the Philosopher’s Stone. There could be one, or hundreds.”

Harry watched the man carefully, his white hair was flying around in odd directions due to the wind. “You say _the_ like you know there’s only one. There could be more, but I don’t think there is.” He gave the old man a piercing look, something in his face must have flickered with the thought of using Legilimency on the man, because the man abruptly laughed.

“How the generations get so inpatient is beyond me,” said the man with a knowing smile, his eyes still twinkling. “My dear boy, I have spent enough time around a few adept Legilimens that I know the signs that it’s going to be used, but I am more shocked by the fact a nine year old child can perform it and has performed it intentionally in the past.”

“I’m eleven, almost twelve,” said Harry, not sure if he should be offended that this man called him nine. “It’s not so much that I want the Stone, it’s mainly the fact that I would love to replicate the Elixir of Life, maybe substitute the Stone for another ingredient.”

“And in order for you to do that, you need to know how the Elixir of Life is created,” said the man. “With apparent rumours that the Stone has indeed been destroyed, it’d be impossible to do that. The only known maker of the supposed Elixir of Life is said to be dead.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” asked Harry as he studied the old man closely, trying to figure out something. “I honestly just cannot see someone as great as Nicolas Flamel handing over the Stone and waiting for death to come, it just doesn’t add up. He had the Stone for nearly five hundred years and supposedly had no issues until now.”

“If you met Nicolas Flamel today, and you could ask him anything, anything at all, what would you ask?”

“How to make the Elixir of Life would be the first one, but I’d also love to know why he gave the Stone to Professor Dumbledore anyway, if I had the Stone I wouldn’t hand it over,” muttered Harry and glanced towards Gringotts. “The chances of me meeting Nicolas Flamel are slim to none.”

“Those are still chances, chances that could very well be true,” said the man with a smile behind is odd looking beard. “I am surprised you haven’t pieced it together yet.”

“I pride myself on my intelligence, but you’ve been rather cryptic,” said Harry calmly and with an odd look at the man, silently studying the man. “How did I not see it before? I was so stupid! But how? I thought you died and your wife?”

“Hush, my boy, and I’ll answer all the questions that you have time for,” said Nicolas. “My wife and I are still alive because we made sure we always had an ample supply of the Elixir, it could produce a limited amount, but it was enough for four people each week and we only needed two doses per month, so you can see that we easily had enough and we stored that away.”

Harry listened carefully, not wanting to miss anything said.

“I knew the Stone wasn’t destroyed, as Albus had proclaimed, it’d take a very, very talented Alchemist to even dent the Stone. He would have had to come to me for it to be destroyed and he didn’t.”

“You dislike Professor Dumbledore?”

“No, my boy, Albus and I go back a long time and he’s a great person and an even greater headmaster. He has odd ways of going about things and nine times out of ten, they go the right way that he hopes,” said Nicolas. “His plan would have worked flawlessly as what he said it all worked out, just something else happened that he couldn’t explain.”

“All worked out?”

“When he told me that the Stone had sadly been destroyed in the battle that happened, he promised that he’d work something out and I trusted him, if the Stone was destroyed he would move mountains to help assist me, but the Stone wasn’t destroyed.” Nicolas gave a slight shrug, which caused the boy to laugh at the absurdity of it. “I have spent six hundred years with the Stone. There’s only one person that Albus assumed would want the Stone, and that’s You-Know-Who.”

“Voldemort,” said Harry and lifted his eyebrows when Nicolas Flamel almost hissed at him.

“I do not say the name out of fear, my boy, dark times it was – You-Know-Who had a Taboo Curse on the name _Voldemort_ , if you said it, his Death Eaters would be at your door. My wife and I refused to speak about him, whether it be You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or anything he was called, we did not speak it,” said Nicolas, his face become almost cheerful once he finished speaking. “You my boy, have been on my radar since Albus spoke about you. I’ll be honest, I debated about stunning you and taking you home with me.”

“What?” said Harry, inching away slightly.

“You have the Philosopher’s Stone, my Stone,” said Nicolas eagerly. “Before you pull out your wand and try and duel with me, I have over six hundred years of magical theory and knowledge. The Elixir of Life makes my body as agile as it was when I was in my youth. I don’t want to threaten a child, much less one as talented as you, but if you push me, child, I will.”

“How did you know?” said Harry quietly.

“As I said just moments ago, I have six hundred years of experience over others. I am glad that you have it and not You-Know-Who, that makes me exceptionally happy, not that either of you can use the Stone, you’d need almost sixty years in the study of alchemy just to learn how to work the thing, it took me awhile.”

Harry said nothing, he just sat there in silence, both his hands on the table.

“Maybe we can work out a deal regarding the Stone?” said Nicolas, his dark eyes twinkling at the look on the boy’s face.

Harry sat up straighter and looked at Nicolas Flamel. “Mr. Flamel, I must admit, that sounds like a very reasonable idea.”

“Please, call me Nicolas,” said Nicolas. “I’ll ask you three things, just three and then you may request what you want. Is that fine with you?

“Of course,” said Harry.

“Why do you seek to use the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“I don’t want to grow old!” blurted out Harry and then recoiled as if something had betrayed him. “I only want to use it, to live forever and be immortal. There is so much I want to learn and improve on and I cannot do it in one simple lifetime.”

“That does make sense, so in the pursuit of knowledge, that’s the main reason I kept using it,” said Nicolas in agreement. “Right, next question, do you believe that – ah – Mrs. Potter, I assume, glad to see you’re back. Now, Mr. Potter, I’ll owl you regarding your future questions on alchemy, run along, my boy.” He paused and gave the boy a knowing look. “I cannot be around forever, so be sure to reply as soon as you can.”

“That man is rather nice, teaching you about alchemy and such,” said Lily as she walked alongside her son, towards the Leaky Cauldron. “Are you finished here? We shouldn’t waste much more time.”

“Yes, mother, I’m done here – I’d like to ask a question though, if you don’t mind,” said Harry and glanced at the shabby looking tables in the pub with mild disgust.

“Sure, you can ask me any question you want, Harry.”

Harry walked alongside his mother slowly, while he pondered how he was going to ask the question, perhaps if he just blurt it out, it’d be easier to ask and therefore not an issue. “What happened to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, weren’t they father’s friends?”

“Well – something – I’m not sure if I can tell you, Harry,” said Lily sadly. “Sirius went after the man who betrayed our family, while Remus had things to do, he didn’t tell us much and in return, we didn’t tell him much.”

Harry nodded and realized that it was just best to forget them all together. “Alright, thank you for explaining it to me,” he said and would find a way to make himself forget those people, surely there was a spell or a potion that could make him forget who those people were. Sirius was still fresh in his mind after hearing about the man in idle conversation, it wasn’t good, whatever he had heard and he instantly knew why his mother had covered for the man.


	2. The Dursleys

Chapter 2 – **The Dursleys**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 1/April/2016_

* * *

Harry and Lily landed just behind a nearby park, which was a few blocks away from the Dursley’s house. Lily didn’t want to spook the Dursley’s with their freaky magic by just appearing straight onto the doorstep of four Privet Drive, she knew that it wouldn’t have gone over to well and that she should walk to the house like a normal person.

Lily and Petunia hadn’t been exactly close since Lily left the Muggle world and vanished into the magical world, but when her parents had died, she and Petunia reapproached sisterhood and rekindled the former relationship. It was a strained one, but the two got along without jibes and as long as Lily kept everything perfectly normal and didn’t do magic around Vernon, the two families could get along, but they were different in so many ways.

The day held a certain shine and warmth to it, the sun beginning to descend and allow the moon to come out, despite it being so late, kids were still screaming and shouting at the nearby park. A sigh from her right told her instantly that her son thought he was above such things.

They walked in complete silence, only their shoes clicking against the stone path that they were walking along. Harry began stepping over the cracks on the path muttering about the poor care and how it could be fixed in a matter of seconds, even if it was done by the Muggle way. Lily was quite happy to just remain purely silent and not bite into her son’s baits about how stupid and outlandish Muggles tended to be, completely used to them now, she just nodded her head in agreement to whatever he was raving on about.

Lily sent her son a pointed look when they were a few houses away from the Dursley’s house. She hoped her son would behave, she thought he may act like a brat if he didn’t get his way instantly, but would usually calm down, but judging by the mutterings, he was still angry.

“Look at that garden, mother!” said Harry, discreetly gesturing towards the said garden. “How dreadful.”

Lily nodded, looking towards the garden, which was indeed dreadful, but at the standards of the street. An elderly lady sat in the window and happily smiled at them, one of her cats sitting in the windowsill next to her.

“I hate this street,” continued Harry, glancing around. “Why is everything the same? So cookie cutter perfect. Perfection is nice, but on this scale it’s hideous and makes my eyes hurt. Every house, every garden, heck most of the cars share a colour and are parked neatly. I would actually be surprised if anything in the houses were different.”

Lily couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She had said the same thing many years ago when she was a bit younger. “It’s not bad,” she said as they neared closer and closer to the Dursley’s house. “They’re similar as it defines the neighbourhood, you know that.”

Harry just nodded and stayed silent, mentally criticizing everything he saw. Perhaps it was because he really didn’t want to be here or because the Muggle world was nothing like the wizarding world and everything here was so bright from the streetlights that were on. It really was like having a Lumos cast straight into your face. He wasn’t surprised when he realized that there was hardly any natural light on the street, most of it was created by the streetlights.

Lily stopped at the door to number four Privet Drive, her hand trailed down to her son’s back and she knocked and waited a few seconds before the door was pulled open by Petunia. “Hello, Tuney,” she said, smiling. “How are you this evening?”

Petunia didn’t smile back, instead she looked beyond the two, making sure nothing freaky was going on. “I’m good, you?” She glanced down from Lily and looked back into green eyes, almost exactly the same as Lily’s. “And you must be Harry.”

“Indeed,” said Harry, his facial expression softened slightly and he gave a smile. “You have a very lovely home, Mrs. Dursley.” He peered through the door as he did so and looked around the entrance room, or hallway, as it was called in the Muggle world and forced himself not to scowl at the overuse of picture frames, nor the overbearing floral wallpaper.

“Well, there’s no point in standing on the doorstep making idle conversation, come in,” said Petunia and gestured both of them inside. She once again glanced beyond the two guests and made sure no one was looking as she was sure that Lily would just do her freaky thing and vanish from inside the actual house. “Vernon will be home shortly, he’s just stuck at work dealing with a big sale.”

Harry sat down on the putrid looking sofa with flowery designs on it and looked at the Muggle thing called a television, he had heard all about them but never really paid attention to them. While his mother and her sister spoke, he kept a keen on eye on the television, making sure it wouldn’t do something odd. It was fascinating how it appeared to not loop and had sound and colour. His eyes travelled from the television to other things in the living room, at least that’s what Muggles called it. He saw a rather large and ornate fireplace, it looked like something straight out of the Malfoy Manor, except not as big.

His head spun around when he heard thumping down the stairs, it sounded like a heard of hippogriffs were in the house and stampeding down the stairs, he was wrong, however, it was a rather large boy, about his age, perhaps a little bit older. The said boy was wearing a bright green t-shirt with a jacket around his torso, it seemed to be pulling tightly, close to ripping.

“Mum, when is dinner?” asked the boy as he paused at the bottom of the stairs, he glanced at the woman who somewhat resembled his mum and then his eyes fell on the boy who was sitting on the sofa looking directly at him. “H-hi!” he stuttered out with a slightly red flushed face.

“Hello there, Dudley,” said Lily with a smile and began to instantly dive back into a conversation that her sister was just nodding to. She turned to Harry minutes later and smiled at him. “You have your trunk right?”

“Yes, mother,” said Harry, gesturing towards the trunk that was placed against the wall. He smiled when his mother smiled, but not for the same reason. He wondered how the Durley’s thought of how he spoke, he’d never call his mother something like mum or mummy, how degrading to her. “I have everything that I need and it should last until September.”

Lily gave her son a tight hug and kissed his cheek before straighten up and giving him another smile. “I love you, Harry. Make sure you behave and that you’re polite and help Petunia if she asks for something. I’m sure that James will send you a letter sometime soon, most likely early on tomorrow, he did say that he was sorry that he couldn’t make it here with you today.”

“Of course,” said Harry.”

“Oh Mer – my, is that the time?” said Lily, looking at her watch. “I must be off before I’m late. Goodbye Tuney, Dudley and Harry.”

“Goodbye, mother,” said Harry, leaning back slightly on the sofa. “Have a good night and I’ll wait patiently for the letter from father.” He watched as his mother vanished on the spot on the front porch and his Aunt Petunia freaked out about it. ‘So much for not wanting to annoy her,’ he thought as he sunk back into the horrid looking sofa.

* * *

Harry sat in silence on the single armchair, not wanting to sit on the sofa with his cousin, who almost made the sofa top when he sat on it. He watched as the both of them held a bag of chips each and began piling them into their mouths, while his aunt was a little more relaxed in her eating habits, his cousin was pretty much shovelling the food in, as if he hadn’t eaten in months. Instantly disgusted by what he just saw, he pulled out his book on complex Arithmancy, not that they would know that as the cover had been quickly changed to something representing a Muggle fantasy book. He glanced upwards as Vernon barged through the door in a happy mood.

“A client and his family will be coming over in a few days for dinner, this’ll be the biggest sale of my life!” said Vernon the moment he entered through the door, already knowing his wife and son would be in the living room. He breathed heavily as he set his coat down. “It must be perfect – who are you?” he asked when he finally spotted the black-haired boy in the armchair. “One of Dudley’s friends, I assume, I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m Harry Potter, Mr. Dursley, my mother is Lily Potter, your wife’s sister,” said Harry with a polite smile, almost marvelling in the fact the man was confused and just staring at him as if he had two heads. “My father is James Potter.”

“You’re one of _them_!” thundered Vernon as he glared at the boy. “You – in my house – them!”

Harry sighed and glanced at the man who was most likely spitting on the floor. “One of what? And you have seen me before, when I was a lot younger.”

“You’re one of them – a freak!” Vernon almost hissed and spat on the floor as he spoke, his face went an ugly shade of red. “It was you who caused that shelf to fall on Dudley’s head when you last came here – I knew it wasn’t the bad nails that held it, I knew it.”

“A freak?” repeated Harry. “I have heard things from mother about your blind hatred, but is that what you call us… my mother, father and I?” He watched Vernon carefully, making sure that the man didn’t charge at him and attack.

‘ _Filthy Muggle_ ,’ said Tom in a sneering tone of voice.

At first, he wanted to argue with Tom about it, it was just one thing and if Muggles called them freaks, who really cared, but then he realized he didn’t care about the Muggles. “I can do magic, so what?”

“M-mag – don’t say that word!” spat Vernon. “Not in this house, not now, not ever!”

Harry silently debated whether baiting this man was worth it, as he had to live here for the time being and making his own experience bad may not be worth it. He glanced up at the man who was still rather red in the face and slightly shaking as he hunched over the sofa that his wife and fat son were sitting at. “Why don’t you like that word, I’m sure nothing with it has happened so common that you now fear it.”

“It’s just not normal – making things float by saying a few nonsense words,” said Vernon angrily, while he looked at the bookshelf, as if it would fall any moment.

“And that freak school my sister went to, Hog of warts or something, taught her nothing, nothing at all!” added Petunia for her husband. “I bet you go there to.”

“I do, I actually just finished my first year, and I got the best marks in the school in over four decades,” said Harry with a wide smile. “Of course, I don’t mean to be a narcissist.”

Petunia muttered something to Vernon, it was whispered softly and no one besides them knew what was said. “We agreed that you may stay here, but no freaky things should happen and you must pull your weight around here, no freeloading.”

Harry had no idea how to react like that, as he was rather sure that his mother had paid them to look after him, for food and other things, perhaps whatever else Muggles had to pay that was asinine. He did debate about asking what was and what wasn’t deemed as freeloading, but he had just hit a rather interesting part in his Arithmancy book and he didn’t want to distract himself with petty people who don’t matter and only serve to waste his time. He lifted his book and let his eyes scan over the odd looking design, he thrived in the sudden, but peaceful, quietness.

But it wasn’t meant to be, as his mind suddenly began to flicker through the whole ordeal with Voldemort, Longbottom and the Stone. Voldemort wasn’t dead, he was attached onto Professor Quirrell’s head, which means that he’s still alive and is now looking for another person to possess. So Longbottom didn’t beat him once again, just burned the professor to ashes which meant that Longbottom had killed someone. He smirked behind his book with this new blackmail material he could use this year, surely people wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the Boy Who Lived murdering a helpless professor, even if he did serve Voldemort.

He closed his book when the room suddenly filled with noise. He glanced around and saw the fat boy almost throwing a tantrum and slamming his leg into the carpeted floor, whining about something. For a brief moment he wondered how he had missed an argument happening next to him, so he decided that he would listen in and wonder how Muggles solved their issues.

“But mum, why can’t I have a friend over?” whined Dudley and stomped his feet around and then turned and glared at the boy sitting in the armchair. “He’s allowed to be here and he isn’t my friend, if he’s allowed here, then why can’t I have a friend over?”

Harry kept his face blank, acting as if he didn’t hear the chubby boy.

‘ _How spoiled can that child actually be_?’ hissed Tom.

“Because dear, we don’t have enough room,” said Petunia sweetly, her tone implying something else. “I promise when he leaves, you can have a friend stay over.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow with the bitter way she referred to him, but quickly pulled it down, not that they would even notice that he had moved or heard them.

“I want Piers to come over, Piers is a good friend,” blurted out Dudley and looked happy with himself. “Maybe not sleeping over, but he could just come over for a while.”

“Yes dear, he can come over tomorrow or something,” said Petunia happily and glanced towards her husband who looked almost proud for the fact. “We really should get dinner ready, what would you like tonight Vernon? After all, with that big deal you’re going to get, I decided to let you decide tonight.”

Vernon looked like he was about ready to explode but calmed down a moment later, at the sheer promise of him choosing what was for dinner. “Yes – let’s go into the kitchen and decide on what we should make.”

Harry watched them leave, both with smiles on their faces. In that split second he had to give his aunt some praise for her manipulating ability, she had simply forgot to cook, it was one of the things that his mother and she spoke about briefly. He did think if she was magical, she would have gone straight into Slytherin for her ability to lie and manipulate as if it were second nature. He wondered if this was the simple reason that his aunt and mother didn’t get along very well, simply because they’re so different.

“Why are you so small?” asked Dudley, as he finally noticed the boy. “You look like you’re nine.”

“I only eat when I have to, so that would explain why I’m skinny, and I most likely don’t spend enough time in the sun to grow to a healthy height,” said Harry simply. Just throwing random answers around as he had no idea why he was so tiny. “I’m eleven, by the way, in case you didn’t know, not nine.”

“You don’t look it,” said Dudley as he gazed at the boy. “Well, at least while you’re here, you’ll be getting plenty of food and you’ll get big and strong.”

“That’s incorrect. If I eat the way you do, I’ll most likely get fat and not strong,” said Harry with a sneer. “In order to get what you call strong you need a healthy diet, not a bunch of nonsense and fried food, which is what I can assume you eat.” He mentally thanked the fact that his mother was raised as a Muggle pretty much and cooked mostly healthy food.

“What?” stammered out Dudley, almost glaring at the boy. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m hardly ever wrong, in fact, I’d say that I’m the smartest person in this house currently, most likely the smartest person ever set foot in this house,” said Harry with a smile. “I mean, what school do you go to?”

“I go to Smeltings Academy,” said Dudley proudly. “Perhaps I can convince mum to let you come with me tomorrow, you can meet Piers and prove how smart you are.”

Harry scowled but nodded, he wanted to see this so-called Muggle school that made the fat kid proud. “Yes, that’d be fantastic, I like to expand my horizons.” He flicked back open his book and settled on ignoring the other boy.

Before either of them could even think about talking to each other again, Petunia had poked her head through the door and looked at them both, almost expecting the living room to have been torn apart in a fit of rage or something. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, come and sit at the table while you wait.”

Harry closed the book once again and mentally noted the page he was on and walked towards the dining room. He paused mid-step and debated about where he would sit, the setup wasn’t like at home or at the Malfoy Manor, it was just over the place and horrid. He sat near the fat boy whose name was Dudley, but it was simply just easier to refer to him as the fat kid. His feet firmly on the floor and his hands sitting gently in his lap, he waited for dinner to be served.

“Why are you sitting there like touching the table will burn you?” whispered Dudley to Harry, while his mum bustled around the kitchen, pulling out various utensils. “I’m not sure if that’s how your lot eat… but it’s odd.”

“You look like you’re eating with the Queen of England,” said Vernon loudly, which caused Petunia to turn and look. “Relax a little.”

“This is me eating relaxed,” replied Harry, his tone was soft and calm, not wanting to spook or startle the Muggles. “This is how I was raised to eat, by Lucius and Narcissa. In fact, I’m sure the former would be sending me subtle glares about how I’m acting at the dinner table.”

“Well then, but –” started Vernon, his posture anything but aggressive. He stopped right in his tracks when he realized that his wife was looking at him funnily, as if he had just failed such an easy sale at work. He watched in confusion as she mouthed something at him, but he didn’t understand it, not one bit. “I think it’s good that you’re well behaved,” he said, looking at the boy. “Kids these days, I tell you what, just the other day this kid up the road threw something at me.”

“The nerve!” said Petunia angrily. “The same boy from up the road? Number twelve?”

“The very same.”

“That woman and that no good brat of hers,” raged Petunia. “That kid needs to be put on a leash, a short one at that!”

“That boy is nothin’ but trouble. It’s what happens when there’s no man to take care of the kid.”

Harry listened in amused as the two seemed to gossip about the woman and child from number twelve Private Drive. Apparently the woman was a widow, her husband had died in a car accident a few years back, and because of it, her child was given everything he wanted and never punished.

“– that awful women with her unnatural plants, who would even – she has her plants mixed with her vegetables!”

“No, Pet, you cannot be talking about number seven!” said Vernon angrily. “That woman she’s – she’s worse than number twelve.”

Harry listened carefully once more as the conversation between them stayed on the same subject, just different people. Petunia kept ranting about this number seven person, or people as he leaned, and their freaky unnatural ways. At first he assumed it was because one of them was magical, but apparently he was correct as all he heard was freaky and then the two whispered to the final word, not so vocal with what was probably a swear.

He soon learned that the woman, was called a freak because the woman lived with another woman and had no husband or children. He did wonder how that was deemed as unnatural in his aunt’s eyes, but then again everyone is raised different. He really wanted to meet this unnatural woman and see what made her unnatural. In Muggle culture she could be anything, anything that wasn’t normal would warrant her being called unnatural.

If it wasn’t for Harry’s brain telling him that someone was behind him, he would have jumped half a mile in the air when a plate seemingly landed in front of him. He waited, unlike the others, until his aunt sat down and began to eat before he carefully slipped around the food and made it not touching each other. He assumed no one noticed, but his aunt did, she sent him an odd stare and he just smiled back at her.

While everyone else at the table seemed to shovel their food into their mouths at a phenomenal rate and were pretty much finished by the time he had eaten half of his meal. He was somewhat glad as it meant he could eat in peace, simply because as soon as they finished, they left the table, almost throwing their plates into the sink.

Of course, the peace hardly lasted, when his aunt came in and gave him an odd look, he knew that he should pick up his pace a little bit.

“You don’t need to eat faster on my account,” said Petunia sharply, her eyes landing on his plate. “I just came in to ask a question while Vernon is occupied.”

“Alright.”

“I’m just curious on the fact that you and my sister are so different,” said Petunia. “Of course you are, but you know what I mean.”

Harry put down his fork, a blank expression on his face. “In what way?”

“I just mean that my sister and I were similar growing up, even in our later years,” said Petunia, sitting down at the table. “I mean, just look at your posture compared to hers, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you slouch and even now, you’re sitting as if you’re royalty. You have this air about you, an air of arrogance, wealth and finally the fact that you feel like you’re better than everyone in the room.”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the comparison.

“You’re so different from her, I guess,” said Petunia. “You don’t resemble that Potter man either, come to think of it. He was like a teenager, despite being an adult, so loud and rowdy.”

“Maybe it’s because I was pretty much taught etiquette from the Malfoy family, which are considered to be royal simply because they’re an old wealthy family,” said Harry with a hand gesture that resembled a flick. “I live and breathe the mannerisms that I was taught by them. I soon learned that it unnerved both my parents, but mainly my father, who seemed as if I didn’t need to be taught that stuff, instead, he focused on his work more than his own son.”

Petunia lifted her eyebrows, leaning forwards slightly.

“Lucius was just there whenever I needed a father and stopped going to my own father for the advice that I would need,” said Harry. “While my mother stayed in my life as much as possible, Narcissa was very much a second mother to me.”

“Never did I think that would be possible,” muttered Petunia. “I thought for sure that she would get with that boy she was friends with as a child. They were so close.”

“You mean Severus Snape?” said Harry quietly. “He’s my godfather.

Petunia lifted her eyebrows and quickly lowered them. “Well then… when you’re done, just put your plate in the sink and I’ll do the washing up a little later.”

* * *

Harry had long ago finished his dinner, his second dinner to be exact, not that what he ate at Diagon Alley could be considered a meal regardless, more like a snack, and sat on his bed, ignoring the laughter of the Dursley family from downstairs. His trunk had already been moved up here before Vernon got home, he didn’t even see his aunt do that. Without even thinking, he pulled out his wand and sent a mild Cleaning Charm at the bed, not that he distrust the Dursley’s cleaning methods, but he just felt like it was required.

It occurred to him much later that he had just done magic out of school and that it wasn’t allowed. He counted the time in his head and waited for the letter to come or someone to come and snap his wand. Yet, no one or nothing came. He dug around in his trunk and placed the book he was reading into it safely, not wanting anyone to steal it, as only the cover was changed, not the actually contents. He pulled out a pair of his pyjamas that he would wear and set them neatly on the foot of the bed.

“Hello,” said Dudley, peering his head through the door, without knocking. “I spoke to mum ‘n dad and they both said that it’d be a great idea if you’d come to school with me tomorrow, of course you’ll have to get up early, not that mum would let you sleep all day regardless, but you know.”

“Do you know if I have to wear anything if I’m just visiting?” said Harry, glancing at the boy. “I can most likely just join you in classes or something and we’ll go with an excuse that I could be transferring to the school.”

“I dunno.”

“It’d be good to see what you learn and such, I’d offer to repay you the favour, but I doubt you’d want to see any magic.”

“It seems pretty cool, making things float,” said Dudley softly before he gasped. “Don’t tell mum or dad I said that!”

“My lips are sealed, Dudley,” said Harry with a small smirk.

“Anyway, goodnight, Harry.”

Harry watched as the boy closed the door with a smile on his face and retreated up the hallway, his footsteps echoing loudly with thumps as he walked towards his room. He smiled as he lent back briefly, he wondered how he could use this situation to his advantage. It appeared as if Dudley didn’t exactly hate magic as much as his parents did, or at least Vernon. His aunt seemed rather composed and only hated it on the surface because her husband did. Of course, he was vastly curious about the school that his cousin was attending, anything with academy in the title should be quintessential education wise. At least, that’s what he assumed and had hoped. Knowing that his mother went to a rather cheap school before Hogwarts and came out so talented never seemed to stop surprising him.

He reached across his bed and picked up his pyjamas and slipped from his room, walking straight towards the bathroom, planning on getting ready for bed in record time.


	3. Smeltings Academy

Chapter 3 – **Smeltings Academy**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 3/April/2016_

* * *

Harry woke up at his usual time, which compared to a lot of other people was far too early in the morning to be awake, at least in his age range. He disagreed, naturally, he thought that the peace and quiet that he got an hour or two before everyone else got up was the best way to start the day, in silence. He slowly crawled out of the somewhat warm bed, the chilly air took the warmth from the blankets, but he wasn’t cold, and he glanced out the small window the in the bedroom. The sun was rising fiercely in the air, demanding that it pushes its orange rays of sunlight across the earth, almost as if it was rising quickly just to spite the moon and the darkness that it provided.

The peace and quiet was ruined not even five minutes later when an alarm screeched throughout the house. The beeping of it grating on his nerves as he glared at the door. Loud thumps of feet soon followed, along with grunts and a yawn or two.

Harry remained quiet, his breathing slowed as Vernon thumped around in the hallway, muttering about early starts and how he would have liked an extra hour of sleep. It was amusing to hear the man thump about as if he was the only person that was currently in the house. A few minutes later he heard his aunt tiptoe down the carpeted hallway and down the stairs, which creaked slightly as she did so. He assumed it was that one creaky step, which was the second step, if he remembered right.

He began pulling out his clothes for the day, seeing as he’d be going to school with Dudley. He bent down and shifted through his trunk, wondering what he could wear as he did so, a few shirts were shifted aside and he scowled, unsure of what the school’s uniform was, as he wasn’t even told. He pulled out a pair of black and green socks, the green covering the heel and toes, a pair of black slacks, which were pretty much the equivalent of Muggle suit pants, a white collared shirt and a pre-tied black tie. He folded them over his forearm and picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste and made for the bathroom.

After completing his morning routine of getting ready he quickly fled back into his room, making sure to make no noise and softly closed the door, looking around for a letter from the Ministry regarding his magic usage. He smirked and instantly began casting the charms for his hair that would neaten it and style it for him, knowing that if he wasn’t warned yesterday, he wouldn’t be warned today.

He ran his hands over his pants, ironing out any crinkles that were present and smirked. He wasn’t sure what they wore at the school, but whatever he was wearing now should be passable. He quickly down stairs, avoiding the creaky stair and sat in the same position as he did last night, smiling at his aunt and her family, which was only her and Vernon at the present time.

He gently pushed down any crinkles that appeared on his black slacks and walked as elegantly as he possibly could down the stairs. He saw his aunt placing food onto a plate in front of Vernon and then doing the same to the other plates around the table. He sat at the same seat he sat at last night and smiled.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Petunia quietly as she place da piece of toast onto the boy’s plate. “I hope that you slept well.”

Harry held her glance and smiled easily. “I did, thank you for asking.”

The conversation remained soft and polite, a few words were exchanged but it was a quiet affair. Dudley joined the table not to long after Harry did, about ten minutes later, still in his pyjamas and his hair untouched. He almost fell down the stairs, and tripped over the small table that held the phone, but he made it to the table in one piece, his eyes half closed. The boy was soon enough shovelling his food into his mouth as if on autopilot.

Breakfast at the Dursley’s house was a lot like breakfast at Hogwarts. It was full of somewhat loud chatter that made it hard to concentrate, let alone think, but at the same time it aided in waking everyone up. A quick glance around could tell that the two boy’s in the family were the ones most effected by the morning, as Petunia appeared to be already wide awake.

There was a cluttering of platers, a knife landing harshly on a plate. Vernon grunting followed, along with some whispered words that sounded suspiciously like curse words and the large man was up from his seat and muttering about being late to work and that of course that he may not even make it on time. The man burst from the kitchen, holding a briefcase and tore through the living room, his footsteps echoing almost eerily.

Harry watched in amusement as Vernon pretty much dove into the car and quickly tore out of the driveway. He did wonder how the rest of them would go anywhere if Vernon had taken the car. He was saved from the embarrassment by his aunt, who held up a second pair of car keys and smiled at him, as if she read the question straight from his head.

Petunia didn’t mess around, she turned to her son and smiled sweetly at him. “You need to get ready, Pumpkin.”

“Mum!” groaned out Dudley as he gave her a look that said he didn’t really want to.

“I know, sweetie, but you have to go to school.”

“You look… well dressed,” said Petunia after coaxing her son to actually go and get ready. “I assumed you’d wear a shirt and some jeans, not a suit.”

“I don’t own any pairs of jeans,” said Harry, looking amused. “I have mostly slacks and a few pairs of track pants.” Of course, it was a lie, but an unknown lie as he hardly knew what clothes he owned. “I did debate about wearing a t-shirt and jumper, but the school Dudley’s going to must be highly prestigious and respected, I must dress accordingly.”

“Smeltings does have a rather strict uniform, I’m pretty sure they’ll be honoured you decided to dress so sharply,” said Petunia as she gave the boy a sharp smile and rushed up the stairs to make sure her son was actually dressing.

Harry watched in slight amusement as the two of them interacted, it was so foreign to see such an overly mother figure. Narcissa was cold, but warm. She’d never do something like calling her son a pet name around anyone else. His mother was pretty much the exact same as Petunia, just a little more stern but her eyes would light up the moment she interacted with him. He didn’t need any pet names, he knew his mother loved him.

It was a shock when he realized that even Vernon spent more time with his son than what his own father spent with him, and Vernon worked longer hours. Seven in the morning to about six at night compared to his father’s nine to five. Honestly, it would actually surprise and shock people to see him with his father, like it was abnormal or odd that the two actually were related and spoke. He spent ten months at Hogwarts and saw his father once or twice, perhaps three times, and not one letter. Really, his father came to watch the Quidditch match and then vanished up to the Gryffindor common room.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice that his aunt had come back in the room and was now fiddling around in her purse, looking for something most likely. He would have offered to give her a hand, but he had learned early from both his own mother and Narcissa that asking a woman to look around in her purse was a bad idea and that if any of them needed help they would simply ask. Of course, Lucius offered him very similar advice, just what he called ‘more manly advice’ or something else just as humorous.

* * *

Harry sat in the backseat of the vehicle, which wasn’t as fancy or luxurious as the one that Vernon had taken, at least according to Dudley, and gripped the seatbelt as if his life depended on holding it to survive. It was a smoother ride than a broomstick, but it was far more dangerous, especially when it had terrible handling and seemed to have stopping speeds. He had expressed his concerns with his aunt while Dudley got his school things and she promptly laughed him off and told him that it was safe.

He watched as cars flew by – not literally – and it was the same with the houses, gardens blurred together at the speed he was going. It was oddly fascinating, he was going faster than the best broom available. Honestly, he needs to look into why wizards don’t have flying cars, that’d be an adventure and a half. The houses, despite going by so fast, were similar to the Dursley’s house in style and size. He did wonder how far this area spread and why it was all the exact same.

In a nearby field, off to the side, he noticed a rather run-down Victorian styled house, the building had seemingly collapsed in on itself, with the front porch sagging as if a heavy weight was on the roof. The castle-like circle wall was looking as if it would topple if a breeze touched it and the windows were all covered in wooden boards, a few glass windows shattered. The grass around the building was somewhat tended to and there were various signs attached to the fence warning people to keep out.

The building gave him an eerie chill, as if it was inhabited by someone who knew he was looking at it. He glanced towards his cousin and wondered whether he had seen the old building. He didn’t bother to ask when he noticed his cousin was more interested in playing with his fingers rather than looking out at buildings. This was the first time that he ever got a good look at the Smeltings Academy uniform. He just hoped that the lessons were better than the unfirm, as the latter was horrid.

“We’re almost there, boys,” said petunia without even glancing back towards Harry. “We’re about two minutes away, depending on the traffic.”

“Alright,” said Harry as he continued to glance out the window, watching as a few people who were walking slowly made odd hand gestures, as if telling a story.

The street that they had turned onto was perhaps the busiest one so far, filled with cars and pedestrians. People swerved around each other, bumped into each other, horns honked and someone le tout a string of curses, which prompted Petunia to turn up the radio and hum along as if she never heard it.

Harry had to hold his snort when he heard Tom tsk in his head.

‘ _That odd house back there_ ,’ said Tom, his voice dripping with excitement. ‘ _Let’s go and look at it later_.’

Harry didn’t even get a chance to reply to Tom when he felt this sudden lurching feeling on his head and neck, like his head was being whipped forwards. He was pretty sure if his head wasn’t securely attached, it would have flung off and hurled towards the front seat, which would have made his aunt scream and most likely crash.

“Sorry about that,” said Petunia. “I wanted this parking space.”

Harry nodded and glanced out the window, looking at the school, which appeared to look boring, a square shape with a few buildings scattered around it. The building held no aspirating traits and could almost be compared to Weasley’s shack, that’s how boring and bland it was.

“We’re here,” said Petunia, stating the obvious as she switched off the car. “Come on, Dudley, you don’t want to be late today. I’ll take Harry with me to the office and he’ll most likely join you for your first lesson.”

Harry watched as Dudley got out of the car sluggishly, wiping his bag around his large shoulders and over his back and walked alongside his mother, which neither complained about in the slightest. From first glance, you could confuse Dudley with being a massive mother’s boy, but you’d have to be stupider than Weasley to believe that.

“Right then,” said Petunia, looking at Harry. “Come along and I’ll get you sorted out.” She observed her nephew, who was standing almost perfectly straight as if his back was a pole and had no flexibility at all. She gave him a smile as she watched him tuck his hands behind his back and strut off towards her.

Harry lifted an eyebrow when the glass door in front of him suddenly opened when he was near. He was about to mutter something about magic, but thought nothing of it. His mother educated him in a lot of Muggle things, but doors that open by themselves were not one of them. He listened to the very brief explanation by his aunt, who he appeared to have 0bviously misjudged as she was a little more understand than what his father had given her credit to be. His mother always saw the best in people, except for Lord Voldemort, she’d most likely toss him off a bridge or something.

“Oh my goodness,” said Petunia, getting over her small fit of chuckles. “I guess Lily wasn’t lying when she said that your lot don’t have sliding doors yet! Moving staircases? You have that but not sliding doors? In a sense, we have both already, as our staircases also move.”

“Really? How interesting,” replied Harry, curious on how Muggles made their staircases move without magic to do it, but then again, the glass door he had just passed through had opened by itself.

‘ _It should be a rather simple spell to make,_ ’ said Tom. ‘ _And when I say simple, I mean simple, as in its honestly first-year material_.’

Harry ignored Tom. “I assume these stairs are normal?” he asked, gesturing towards the stairs that led up a floor.

“Yes, Harry, they’re normal stairs.”

“Hm.”

Petunia shook her head and led the boy towards the Principal’s office, feeling slightly inadequate with her posture as she walked next to her nephew.

“Mrs. Dursley, it has been a long time,” said the man sitting behind the desk in a dark blue suit. “It’s been far too long since I have tasted your wonderful cooking, I hope the next time we do something like we did last year, you’ll come again.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” said Petunia with a faint blush. “It hardly took any effort at all to do.”

“And you,” said the man, turning towards the straight-backed boy. “You must be Harry Potter.”

“I am, sir,” said Harry politely, even if he disliked the way the principle looked at him.

“Good, good – very well,” said the principle. “No offence, but you do appear to be a little young…”

Harry frowned and glanced around the office, occupying his mind with the room instead of biting back a retort. How dare this Muggle principle tell him where he should and shouldn’t be? Of course he shouldn’t be here as he was a wizard and he is above such a pathetic thing as attending a school named after a process in smithing. “Nonsense,” he said, brushing the man off, channelling his inner Narcissa. “I’m eleven, rather close to turning twelve. I am most defiantly old and mature enough to attend this _fine_ institution of a school, sir. After all, I am here to learn about your school to see if I would like to transfer here.”

The principle was silently listing off a small checklist in his head as he listened to the boy speak. He had of course learned all that he could about the Potter family and he didn’t find much, said that they had one son and mostly kept to themselves, didn’t live in Surrey, like the Dursley family. The checklist just got longer the more the boy spoke. Every word in the English dictionary that described wealth popped into his mind about this Potter lad. He did have one question, why was this boy attending a school with a curriculum based on industrial skills? “I apologize, Mr. Potter, you do have a point.”

‘That’s right,’ thought Harry darkly, watching the man. ‘Don’t ever question my motives.’

‘ _You are far too dramatic_ ,’ said Tom. ‘ _He was simply assessing you and seeing if you fit the standards of his school_.’

“Of course,” said Harry out loud, both to the principle and Tom. “I’m normally correct regardless.”

‘ _Here we are, that is how to not address the principle of a school_ ,’ said Tom, chuckling.

“I would rather spend the day with my cousin, you see, as he could show my around and I don’t really get along with strangers,” said Harry, ignoring the gaping of the principle. “Okay, that was a lie, I get along amazingly with other people, they just feel intimated by my presence and seem to stutter or sprint away as if I am the Devil himself, how quaint.”

“Okay,” said the principle softly, his eyes switching back to Petunia. “Are you alright to remain here? I’ll just be showing Mr. Potter to the direction of the Mathletics classroom, which is what I assume Mr. Dursley has up first – wait – yes – here.”

“I’ll be fine to wait,” said petunia, smiling.

“I’m sure the other students won’t mind if another person slips into their class as long as you listen and don’t backtalk the teachers.”

Harry furrowed his brows and followed the principle from the office and towards the classroom that his cousin was in. He couldn’t believe that his cousin was learning about something irrelevant as mathematics, that’s what the goblins were for. Being one hundred percent honest, he was somewhat excited to learn advanced mathematics and things that not even the smartest Ravenclaw knew, that way he could put them in their place. He did assume that they wouldn’t be teaching simple addition and subtraction, but it wouldn’t surprise him with how stupid Muggles seemed to be.

They stopped in front of a bland oak wooden door which held a small glass area about head height so you could look in. As soon as the door was gently pulled open by the principle, the laughter and snorts of laugher came out into the hallway, which the principle frowned at.

“Good morning, Mrs. Reed,” said the principle in a chipper tone of voice, his expression morphing into one of happiness. “This young lad is Harry Potter, he’s spending the day at our school to explore his horizons and test out our school in case he wishes to transfer here. Of course, I wish to see that he has full use of our schools facilities and make him feel welcome.”

“Alright, okay,” said Mrs. Reed. “You can sit next to Jacob –”

“His cousin is your class, as such, it’d be wise to pair them together,” said the principle. “Mr. Dursley, make room for your cousin.”

Everyone in the classroom watched the boy slipped by the principle, a cold expression on his face, and walked towards the empty seat, his hands still tucked behind his back. A few of the more perspective children noticed the slight twitch in his right hand, as if he was reaching for something. Whispering soon began about the supposed new boy and he was out of place.

“Now, now, children,” said Mrs. Reed in her normal tone of voice. “I’m sure if Mr. Potter would like to tell you about himself, he can do it during the next break. Now, let’s begin Advanced Mathematics.”

Harry was slightly shocked at the revelation that this was an advanced class, he turned to his cousin with lifted eyebrows. “Advanced? Never took you for the type.”

“Ha-ha, nah, I hate this class,” said Dudley.

“Oh?” said Harry, leaning forwards, taking a peak at the book as the teacher raved on about the lesson. “Doesn’t mean you’re _bad_ at it.”

“Okay, okay, I’m good with numbers,” said Dudley in a soft whisper. “I told Piers that my dad got me in the class.”

“Why would you hide away your intelligence?”

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Dursley, is your conversation more important than what we’re learning?” said Mrs. Reed, moving towards the boys.

“No,” said Dudley.

“Yes,” said Harry in cold tone of voice. The entire room went silent, not that there was any chatter before, but it was definitely silent now, all eyes turned towards Harry Potter, even Dudley’s eyes focused on him.

‘Probably not a good move,’ thought Harry. ‘But she did interrupt our conversation when I was prying blackmail material.’

“Really?” said Mrs. Reed, moving in closer. “Your conversation is more important than what I’m teaching?”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I already know what you’re teaching.”

“And because you know it, everyone else should?” said Mrs. Reed bitterly.

“Well, I assumed that people in an advanced class would understand material that is generally taught when you’re eight,” said Harry. “Clearly I was misinformed.”

Mrs. Reed glared. “Detention!”

“I don’t actually attend this school, so you cannot give me a detention,” said Harry. “Even if did attend this school, I wouldn’t go because you cannot give me a detention when I did nothing wrong.”

Mrs. Reed angrily flicked a strand of her blonde hair from her face and glanced at the boy that was making her blood boil. “You will address me properly.”

“I apologize,” said Harry solemnly, his head bowed. “Mrs. Feed.”

Mrs. Reed spun on the spot and mentally counted in her head. Never in her days has she experienced such a – such a brat of a child!

“Perhaps we can fix out issues with a quick game of chess.”

Mrs. Reed spun around so fast, her hair almost sounded like a whip. “A game of chess, in a lesson on mathematics?”

“Do it, Mrs. Reed,” called out a brown-haired girl. “You’re really good.”

“You and I can play a game of chess while the rest of their class does their surprise quiz,” said Harry, smiling. “I of course have no idea what you’ve taught this past week and cannot participate in it.”

“Surprise quiz?” whined the same brown-haired girl. “ _Come on_!”

“I’m at a Grandmaster level in chess, Mrs. Reed,” said Harry mockingly. “I have not once been beaten.”

“Alright,” said Mrs. Reed, stalking off towards the cupboard that contained the chessboard. “What colour would you like to be?”

“I’m the one who issued the challenge, Mrs. Reed, you pick first.”

Harry sat down at a desk and smirked at the woman who gave him black, pretty much just handing him the win as he could go off her first move and capitalize on it instantly.

The students began to jot down random answers just so they could get up and watch the game. Some wanting the boy to lose and some wanting the teacher to lose, just out of spite, even if they disliked the boy. A few realized that the boy clearly wasn’t bluffing as he moved the pieces so quickly it was like his hand never even moved.

Mrs. Reed smiled victoriously when she took the boy’s queen. “That was a careless mistake.”

“Sometimes your queen must be sacrificed so you can win the game,” said Harry with a smirk.

“What?”

“Checkmate.”

Mrs. Reed jumped up and lent over the board, studying where the checkmate had come from. “I checkmated myself when I took your queen!”

“Regardless, within three moves you were done anyway, I just wanted to see if you’d notice it or if you acted out to get my queen.”

Mrs. Reed took in a deep breath. “It’s far too unnatural, your ability in chess.”

Harry noticed Dudley tense. “Unnatural? Like a werewolf or some kind of fairy that hovers only in sunlight and sprinkles stardust over flowers?”

Mrs. Reed snorted and tucked the chessboard away. “I’ll give you that, it was a good game.”

“Of course it was,” said Harry. “I was playing.”

Mrs. Reed muttered under her breath and collected all the quizzes and sent the class back to their seats.

“That was amazing,” said Dudley as they sat down. “No one has ever beaten her in chess before!”

“Really?” said Harry, already knowing that, the woman took great pride in her undefeated streak. What a shame that it was now ruined.

“She’ll want a rematch.”

“And I won’t be back here again to give it to her,” said Harry with a smirk. “She’ll have to stew over the fact she was bested by me. Always by me.”

* * *

Harry sat with Dudley at what the school called lunch, how plebeian. He didn’t exactly want anything, despite being offered so many different kinds of foods that’d make him fat within a few days of eating them assuming he didn’t burn off the calories. Honestly, the pizza that the kids were eating had more grease on than what you should eat in your entire lifetime. He listened into what Dudley and his lackeys were doing later on in the afternoon. He quickly tuned them out, wondering if they’d ever talk about something exciting.

“Hey, mate, I heard that you’re pretty smart,” said a rat like boy, his facial expression set into confusion. “Is that why you’re so pale? Because you don’t go outside at all?”

Harry sighed. “If I didn’t go outside at all, I wouldn’t be outside now,” he said with a sneer. “Even I assumed that with your obvious high intelligence, you would be able to decipher the difference between inside and outside.”

“Piers, what’d I say?” said Dudley in a rough tone of voice, slightly intimating the scrawny rat-faced boy.

Harry once again ignored the conversation, remaining somewhat still and unnerved by everything going on, that was until he heard a girl scream and he twisted towards it with excitement. ‘Finally something is happening,’ he thought.

The entire school rushed towards the commotion, leaving a circle around something, as if it was one of those famous schoolyard fights where students gather around and chant ‘fight’ over and over again, as if it couldn’t get any more childish than that, the girls screamed instead of chanting fight.

Harry, giving up on the boring discussion of Dudley and his goon squad, walked over towards the circle and smirked at what he saw. A snake was twisted around a girl’s leg, attempting to squeeze it to death and the girl was whimpering and kicking painfully. He was debating whether or not he should let the snake kill the stupid Muggle girl but he realized the snake would be killed and he couldn’t have that.

“ **Filthy humans**!” hissed the snake as it squeezed a little tighter. “ **You dare attack me**?”

“Get off! Get off! Get off!”

The snake tasted the air and tightened once more. “ **Poke me with your brown stick, all I was doing was sleeping!** ”

‘ _Let her die_ ,’ said Tom in an excited tone. ‘ _Then smuggle the snake out_.’

“Stay still,” said Harry, walking into the circle, the crowd parting quickly when he kicked someone. “You foolish girl, stay still or it’ll kill you.”

The girl whimpered and kept squirming on the spot, making the snake more agitated, not that she knew that.

“I’m tempted to just let it kill you,” sneered Harry, ignoring the girl. “You have to be by far the most pathetic, downright disgusting human I have ever seen. When you’re asked to do something, you do it and not sit there and whimper –”

‘ _I like where this is going_.’

“– when you’re asking to remain still, you remain still! Especially when it’s asked by those that actually have a brain and know what they’re doing!”

The girl finally stopped moving and Harry was able to pry the snake from her leg, and wrapped it around his shouldn’t, knowing that thing wouldn’t dare attack him. “Now leave and in the future I suggest you don’t ever attack a snake again, else it will kill you.”

The girl stumbled off, most likely towards the nurse.

“I have a snake at home,” said Harry, letting the crowd of students know. “I know how to deal with them. This one right here is an Adder, a fair way from home.”

“Y-you have a snake o-on your s-shoulder!”

“Really?” said Harry bitterly. “I never would have noticed. Please enlighten me with your genius opinion more.”

Dudley couldn’t help but laugh, but he slapped Piers on the back.

“This snake is beautiful and it’s an Adder, very shy and timid, it won’t attack unless it’s provoked or you threaten it,” explained Harry, more to the rat-faced boy than the rest. “I assume this one is a female, judging by her attitude. Also she’s quite rare, due to her being almost all black.”

“Attitude?” repeated Dudley, highly confused.

“Female snakes tend to be more queens than anything, while males are rather defence and will strike if annoyed at all. The snake I have at home is a female, and she’s so much like a kitten,” explained Harry, it was slightly wrong and not documented, judging all snakes by Nagini’s attitude and what she has told him is not a good idea, but oh well. “I can assume she only come near us because her nesting place was disturbed, therefore I am going to place her somewhere where she can rest and not be disturbed by people poking her with things, which I’m amazed they’re not dead or at least heavily injured.”

The group of students gossiped slightly, even as a professor came and attempted to part the snake from the boy, but had no such luck in the matter, it seemed as if the snake was defending the boy, instead of attacking.

“I cannot believe he has a snake at home or that the snake pretty much went to him and let him pick it up,” said the boy next to Dudley, looking awe-struck. “I have never seen that before, even those snake handlers wouldn’t be able to do something like that. How freaky.”

“Freaky… yeah, I guess,” said Dudley with his brow furrowed. “Whatever though, it sure got the school worked up enough, maybe they’ll cancel the last few lessons and let us all relax.”

Harry waved everyone off as he walked across the large green field that seemed to occupy almost half the school at the present time. “ **You know, I’m pretty sure Nagini would like you** ,” he hissed softly towards the snake.

“ **Who is this Nagini**?” hissed the snake in reply, nuzzling its head against the speaker’s cheek. “ **Is she your nest mate**?”

“ **Nagini is my pet snake, although, she’s more of a friend than a pet. I met her about five years ago** ,” Hissed Harry with a smile. “ **She’s very… unique**.”

“ **I see, speaker, I am glad you have a friend in our form** ,” hissed the snake. “ **There was a legend that there was once plenty of speakers, but they disappeared**.”

“ **I haven’t looked into it, no one else in my family can speak to snakes, except me** ,” replied Harry, glancing around the field, making sure no one was looking at him. “ **At first I assumed it was a common thing, but when Nagini told me I should keep it a secret, I decided that I’d follow her advice**.”

“ **It’s a good idea to listen to us snakes, we are usually right** ,” the snake gave a haughtily look, almost making a sound that sounded like a laugh. “ **As you are already aware**.”

Harry rolled his eyes and stopped just outside the fence of the school, it had a rather large set of bushes that spread across the fence line and in a large clump. “ **This should be good for you** ,” he hissed. “ **I do suggest not coming back into the school again, you’ll get captured or killed by the humans**.”

“ **I was simply hunting for the human that poked me with a piece of tree** ,” hissed the snake, slightly annoyed. “ **I would not have left my nesting place if they had not done that**.”

“ **I guess so, I believe you** ,” hissed Harry sarcastically, he knew the snake would scent it on him, as Nagini had done plenty of times and called out his bluff. “ **Are you alright to go now and find a nice place to call your new nest, or would you like me to stay for a moment longer**?”

“ **I am not a newly hatched snake**!” hissed the snake angrily. “ **I know my way around, but I enjoy the company, so you may stay**.”

“ **Alright, so do you have any hatchlings or younglings**?” asked Harry as he watched the snake slither around in a circle on the dirt, which looked rather warm.

“ **I did once, but they have left the nest now** ,” hissed the snake with what sounded like a sigh followed. “ **I am much too old now to bear anymore, as much as I would like to**.”

“ **That’s terrible, I hope your younglings are all safe and protected** ,” hissed Harry as he gently rubbed the top of the snake’s head. “ **I am not sure what else I can say about this situation**.”

“ **You are bad at conversation, speaker** ,” hissed the snake while tilting her head. “ **Do you have any younglings or hatchlings**?”

“ **I’m eleven**!” Harry hissed back instantly, after spluttering on his words a little bit. “ **I cannot have younglings yet, it’d be impossible for me to. Maybe in twenty or so years**.”

“ **That is a long time, speaker. I had hatchlings as soon as I could, it was the best feeling, besides when one was killed… but I had plenty of others**. **Enough about me, I have not sensed you around here before, did you just come**?”

“ **I’m just visiting, I normally wouldn’t be here otherwise. I live very far away** ,” hissed Harry with a smile. “ **I’d offer you to come home with me, but I don’t think you would like the journey**.”

“ **No, speaker, I am fine here** ,” hissed the snake and slithered around, placing her head in the dirt. “ **This place has very good conditions for me to live in, if I go elsewhere the coldness could kill me, speaker**.”

“ **Oh, yes, I didn’t think about that** ,” hissed Harry sadly and gave the snake another pet on the head. “ **I assume you’re happy here anyway, just avoid that place for me, that way I don’t need to worry**.”

“ **Of course, speaker**.”

Harry stayed with the snake for another three minutes before he decided to head back towards Dudley and his group of lackeys, who oddly enough reminded him of Crabbe and Goyle, intelligence wise, at least. “I convinced the snake to leave the ground sand look elsewhere for her food,” he said as he walked into the group of them. “It took a bit, but I was able to coax her out, I dealt with a few dirty looks from her, but that’s about it.”

“That was awesome, Harry!” said Dudley while giving his cousin a soft slap on the back, already learning how frail his cousin looks. “I never thought you’d actually go and pick it up, it’s like you understood it.”

“Snakes are pretty simple to understand, honestly,” said Harry with a smirk. ‘Even easier when you can actually understand them,’ he thought a she smiled at Dudley.

“Right, because you have one at home, yeah?” asked the boy just to the right of Dudley in a confident tone of voice, his medium length dirty-blond hair covering his eyes slightly. “What’s its name?”

“ _Her_ name is Nagini,” said Harry, putting extra emphasis on Nagini’s gender. “Nagini means a female counterpart for a class of entity or being that takes the form of a very large snake, as such, Nagini is rather large.”

“That’s not English, is it?” a boy near Dudley asked, slightly curious. “What languages do you know?”

Harry rubbed his forehead in a massaging pattern. “No, it’s not English, obviously. Believe it or not, but I’m not a walking encyclopaedia,” he said with a sneer. “I know a little bit of Latin, but that’s it.”

“Latin?” the rat-faced boy asked. “Isn’t Latin dead?”

Harry bristled and tried his hardest to not just whip out his wand and blow this moron to pieces. “Latin is a dead language. No one speaks Latin as a native language, and this has been the case for more than a millennium. In fact most teachers of Latin, even very good ones, cannot say more than a few sentences of Latin in succession. There is your history lesson.”

“Ah, so that’s why you only know a bit, I can speak a bit of French you see, my dad visited Paris once and he taught me a few words,” the rat-faced boy said with a gleeful smile and then proceeded to say a long string of words in French, which seemed almost insulting.

Harry shrugged it off, not really caring, he could learn French if he really wanted, Draco goes there enough as it is. “That’s wonderful, at least your French seems accurate, unlike your native language, which is horrific.”

Dudley gave a laugh and shook his head. “Come on guys, we better get ready to go in before the bell goes off and we’re late to our next class.”

* * *

The promise of the next class held Harry’s attention as they walked across the green grass and towards an almost isolated building, which appeared to be almost half the size of the main building. He hoped that it would be something more interesting than mathematics and that he’d actually learn something and not have to manipulate the teacher into playing chess.

The small gathering of students pushed open an iron looking double door and walked down a rather dull looking corridor that had hooks on one side and a small window that ran across the other wall. A few bags were hung on the hooks and that was about it that made this corridor interesting.

Harry followed behind his cousin silently, mentally criticizing the corridor and how bland and dull it really was. He hoped that they would soon appear in a nicely decorated room that would teach them things that would be interesting and all that sort of stuff.

One can dream.

“Welcome to Physical Education,” said the brutish teacher, who seemed to be more muscle than common sense. “Today we’ll be playing a game of dodgeball, now let’s arrange ourselves into teams and – who are you?”

Harry gave the man a rather wide smile and blanked his expression. “I’m Harry Potter, sir,” he said in his usual dismissive tone. “I’m currently spending the day here, at this school, so that I can evaluate the school’s curriculum –”

“I didn’t ask for your life story!” snapped the teacher, causing a few people to remain perfectly still.

How dare this Muggle interrupt his speech, not that the brutish man was worth listening to his words. “Would you care not to spit at me? It’s not pleasant. You asked who I was – in a rather rude manner to, if I may say so – and then when I told you who I was, you interrupted me with your tirade of useless speech and then begin to question me once more with your facial expression. I clearly was giving you my name and the reason why I was in your class to begin with, not that I think you even know who half your students are. How one person can be so inscrutable and be so ignorant and act like a total lout, I have no idea.”

‘ _Impressive_ ,’ said Tom. ‘ _If you keep that up, you may cause him to have a heart attack_.’

Ignoring Tom, Harry silently thanked Professor Snape and the fact that the man constantly used words straight from a dictionary while in classes. Because he thrive don knowing everything, he would instantly search for the word and in turn he knew it as well. “Now, because you’re remaining silent, I can continue. I’m Harry Potter and I’m currently spending the day here, at this school, so that I can evaluate the school’s curriculum to see if I would like to attend this institute. Now if you would like my life story, I can provide you it.”

The class was snickering, a select few were brave enough to openly laugh.

The teacher, who was red-faced, shook with rage, a vein on the side of his neck was popping out a little with every breath he took. “How dare you speak to me like that, you little brat!”

Harry smirked at the man, which seemed to aggravate the man further, making him shift around on the spot. “I’m not sure if you’re vacuous or not, but you’re the one that’s yelling and screaming as if you’re a child that was just denied a chocolate bar by their mother. I’m the one who is speaking calmly, you’re the one who is acting like a – what did you say? A brat. You’re wasting all our time with your mental breakdown, please sit down or call in a substitute teacher, sir.”

The said teacher looked all about three seconds away from exploding in a fit of curses – not the wizarding type either – and yelling at everything and anything that he saw walk into his peripheral vision. He did not expect to be mocked in his own class, by an uppity little rich kid, who assumed he was better then everyone. “Right, yes, let’s play dodgeball – we have wasted too much time,” he said in a rough tone of voice. “Captains are Mr. Dursley and – uh – Miss. Anderson.”

Dudley didn’t waste any time before he started picking his team, his eyes trailed straight towards his cousin. “Harry Potter.”

Harry walked and stood next to his cousin, unaware on why he was chosen first for a Muggle game.

“You’re short and small, perfect for dodgeball,” said Dudley as he waited for the girl to pick her teammate. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you were fast as well.”

Harry played defensively, which wasn’t normally his style when doing such things, he preferred for the aggressive approach, but he was a Slytherin and he had good self-preservation and he didn’t want the opponent to catch his throw and knock him out. He did have a weak throw, he was a Seeker in Quidditch, not a Chaser. Speaking of Quidditch, this game was similarly like it, just a little different.

He caught a rather powerful throw by the other team’s captain, which had curved towards him mid-air, and turned to Dudley, who was impressed by the catch, not that the other captain was out as the ball bounced. “You have a better arm,” he said, tossing his cousin the ball. “I’ll catch them, you throw them.”

And that’s exactly how the game went. Harry caught any balls that came near his cousin and promptly handed the balls straight to Dudley, who threw them at the other team with powerful throws that tended to knock a few girls clean off their feet. The ones Harry couldn’t catch he would dodge, but not if his cousin was behind him, in case he got hit and if his cousin got hit, they would lose as he had a rather weak throw, he was a Seeker after all, and not a Beater or Chaser.

“You’re quite a good catcher, Harry,” said Dudley as he slapped his cousin on the back. “I think you and I single handily won that for our team. Never would have thought you’d be into sports.”

“I’m full of surprises,” said Harry with a chuckle. “That was pretty fun to be honest, first time I’ve ever played that game.”

“It’s a simple game to grasp the basics, but it’s so hard to actually do well in,” said Dudley as he led his cousin towards the next lesson, which was thankfully the last! He wasn’t sure why his dad disliked Harry or Harry’s family. Sure, they could make things float and change colour with a few words, but that’s awesome and nothing to be jealous about. As long as it wasn’t done in public, no one would care. “Come on, if we go this way, we’ll avoid the groups of people at their lockers.”

“When did you start here, Dudley?” asked Harry as he was randomly tugged into another direction. “You seem to know your way around decently.”

“Hm, I started last year. This is my second year here,” said Dudley as he pushed open the door to the classroom. “It’s a pretty good school, if I have to admit. Dad came here as well, he goes on and on about it being the _best_. Not sure where mum went, I think she went to an all-girls school or something like that.”

Harry nodded as he stepped into the classroom, scowling at the fact it was so dirty and blobs of paint were everywhere. “What is that!” he said, pointing at some sort of mural that looked like it was painted by toddlers.

“I dunno,” said Dudley, looking at the painting. “Think it was done years ago by a couple of students.”

“Looks like a couple of babies drew it.”

“I see you two appreciate the recent mural,” said the professor. “I drew that.”

Harry snorted and twisted around to face the professor. “It’s good, great.”

“Thank you lad,” said the professor. “It took me many nights and days to complete, but I got it in the end.”

Harry nodded and sat at the desk he was assigned and refused to draw anything in case he was compared to that scribbling on the wall just behind him, and he wouldn’t be disgraced such as that. He could draw, just not Muggle drawing, it was easier to do with magic.


	4. Dinner with the Masons

Chapter 4 – **Dinner with the Masons**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 3/April/2016_

* * *

Harry had heard from Dudley that the people at Smeltings apparently missed him and his ability to put the teachers in their places, whatever that meant. He had also learned that the irate and brutish Physical Education teacher was still fuming to this day and handed out detentions instantly whenever anyone refused to listen or back talked him. He would be a liar if he said that this piece of news displeased him.

It had hardly been a day he attended the school and he was already popular there, especially the talk about the snake and how he threatened to let a girl die. Of course the principle denied it all and stated that it never happened and that it would be wise to forget or else people could get in trouble. Naturally, no snake was ever seen on the grounds again and the rumour was soon quenched, at least according to the principle.

Harry had soon learned that today was a busy day, a real day. He heard his aunt mopping the floors and preparing something with a lot of clattering. He quickly made his way downstairs and watched as his aunt shifted around in the kitchen.

“Oh, Harry, I hope I didn’t wake you,” said petunia, looking at the boy for a moment before she turned around and continued to mess around with the stove.

“It’s almost two, Aunt Petunia, in the afternoon.”

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!”

“Are you alright?” asked Harry, sliding out of her way before he got hit with something during her frantic hunt for something.

“Time has gone by so fast!” said Petunia, shifting around in her trunk. “I’d need a miracle to get all this done!”

Harry listened as his aunt cursed and shifted around the table, neatening it up as if she had super speed. He would have offered a hand, but he suddenly felt as if his Muggle way of cleaning would hinder her rather than aid her.

“Where did I put that? Oh!”

“Would you like some help?” asked Harry softly, not wanting to use to high of a tone in case she hurled something at him.

“Hm?”

“Would you like me to assist you in cleaning up, that way you can focus on the cooking.”

“With your freaky magic?” said Petunia, her lips forming into a fine line. “No offence, Harry, but I doubt you’ve ever scrubbed a floor in your life.”

“None taken,” said Harry. “But you’re right, I have never scrubbed a floor by hand, but you would be surprised at how demanding mother can get with cleaning. She does most of it by hand, not even using her wand and she’s proud of that. It astounds me how similar you and her are.”

“Lily and I have always been similar,” said Petunia. “Except she was a witch and I wasn’t.”

“Despite that, you’ve done an excellent job at raising your family,” said Harry. “So even if I did help you with magic, Vernon and Dudley would hardly suspect it as you’re such an amazing worker and mother.”

“Don’t try to flatter me, Harry.”

“Flattery is beneath me,” said Harry. “I spent the day with Dudley yesterday, I know how intelligent he may be, despite his outward appearance and attitude.”

Petunia was rather speechless, so she nodded and walked into the kitchen, leaving the boy standing there alone. The boy was far too good at flattery and manipulation that she found it hard to deal with him with words as you’d instantly be cornered and he’d have you in his grasp. Seemed unnatural for an eleven year old to possess the ability to control a conversation like a politician would. She picked up a cup and walked into the living room and stopped in front of the boy.

“That’s a nice cup,” said Harry, eyeing it wearily, wondering what his aunt was planning on doing.

“It is, isn’t it,” said Petunia. “I got it from the shop a few weeks ago, wasn’t that expensive but it’s become a regular cup for me.”

Saying that he was shocked was an understatement. He watched like it was low motion as his aunt turned and threw the cup at the tiled ground, just beyond the carpet. The blue and white pieces of the cup shattered across the ground, spaying the air with colourful pieces of glass.

The final piece of glass fell to the ground and Petunia turned around satisfied. “If Lily was here, what would she do?”

“Get a broom and a dustpan and sweep it up,” said Harry. “And then scold whoever broke it.”

“And what would you do?”

“Use magic to fix it and put it back,” said Harry. “It’s easier, saves money and time and the Mending Charm is pretty much flawless, no matter how many times said object has been broken.”

“Fix it,” said Petunia. “I want to see you fix the cup and hand it back to me.”

Harry slowly pulled out his wand and flicked it towards the shattered cup. “Reparo!”

Petunia watched as the cup swirled in a tornado like pattern, glass shards merging the broken cup into a complete cup, no piece of glass left behind. She watched as it reassembled piece by piece until it rolled slightly and then flew through the air towards her nephew, who caught it with his hand.

“Here you are,” said Harry, handing his aunt the cup.

“It seems so unnatural,” said Petunia. “Although, I do recall lily getting a letter for using magic outside of school, have they changed that rule?”

“I’m just great and above such rules.”

‘ _More like the trace refused to stick to your wand_ ,’ said Tom with a cough. ‘ _If you had any other wand, you’d be flagged by the Ministry_.’

“Really?” said Petunia, her lips pursed.

“Of course,” said Harry cheerfully. “But the real reason is I’m exempt from the rule because the spell never stuck to me.”

“I assume Lily doesn’t know,” said Petunia. “She’s always been someone to follow the rules.”

Harry laughed. “No, of course not. If she knew I’m sure she’d make me get the trace so I couldn’t do magic outside of school.”

“You may clean the living room,” said Petunia. “But I don’t want to hear any of it and if you see Dudley or anyone stop it and go upstairs, also close the curtains, I don’t want the neighbours to see.”

Harry smiled and walked over towards the curtains, yanking them shut. He had learned a lot of basic Household Charms in a recent book he had read, mainly to clean his room without his mother ever knowing he used magic to do it.

* * *

Harry had been flinging around spells for less than fifteen minutes before the room started to actually look perfectly clean. He started with the walls, which ended up becoming the lovely white that they were once previously, ignoring the ugly floral pattern on the walls. The spell even cleaned the light bulbs, which he had to turn off unless they would shatter or react badly to the magic. He did avoid casting it on the electronics like the television or the square box thing that was called something odd.

It was fifteen minutes after that when a loud crash was heard from the kitchen and a cluttering of a pan rolling across the floor echoed into the living room.

Harry jumped up and made his way into the kitchen, curious on what happened. “Are you alright?” he asked, pushing open the door, surprised to see the large white cake splattered across the floor.

“I lost my grip,” said Petunia softly, her eyes focused on a single pattern on the floor. “I couldn’t hold onto the dish and it slipped.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said Harry softly, walking into the room a little more. “Would you like some assistance?”

Petunia said nothing, her eyes just downcast. She heard a long string of Latin and then watched as the cake reformed and flew through the air, resembling what it looked like previously.

“May be a little off,” said Harry. “I had no idea what it looked like previously and the spell goes by memory.”

Petunia didn’t move or complain about the magic saving the cake she had spent hours and hours making, instead she just sat there, her eyes focused on the floor as if waiting for it to swallow her whole.

“You know, this is a really nice cake,” said Harry, inspecting it, shifting a strawberry into the correct position. “You could make these cakes and sell them at weddings, I’m sure a lot of people would order one.”

Petunia got up and pulled out a chair and slumped in it. “You know, I never really disliked Lily, especially when she went off to Hogwarts.”

Harry sat down and listened to his aunt.

“Despite everything and what people tended to say, she and I were always close as children and when she started making freaky things happen, that’s when I realized we weren’t so similar,” continued Petunia. “It was freaky, seeing an object levitate in mid-air with no strings or anything, at least in my eleven year old mind. But that’s far from the issue, the issue was that we’d never been separated and we did everything together. I just – I just always thought that it’d be that way.”

“Just because she rushed off to Hogwarts didn’t mean she left you,” said Harry. “When Dudley goes to school each morning, he’ll be back, you know that.”

“I do know that, it’s just that it was ten months a year that I never saw her,” said Petunia. “Whenever we wrote to each other, she would never ask how I was, it was whatever she was learning. I guess I just hated that a school of magic split our relationship and when she finished school she couldn’t come home because some evil Dark Lord was hunting down what you lot call Muggleborn students. Every day I had to wonder if that maniac had killed her, every day.”

That made a fair amount of sense, at least Harry assumed so. It did raise a very strong point that he was thinking about a while ago. “You know, a while ago I had this idea that all Muggleborn family members should be Obliviated and the magical person is added permanently into our world.”

“That’s barbaric!” said Petunia, shifting slightly. “To remove the memories of a family member.”

“It would solve all heartache and stop any breaches of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy,” said Harry. “Our worlds wouldn’t merge and no harm would come of it.”

“No harm?” repeated Petunia. “Families would be torn apart!”

“There’s plenty of unpleasant comparisons I can make that would be worse,” said Harry. “Memories could be altered and you would all believe that your brother or sister simply got a scholarship in a Muggle field and vanished off to do that and they occasionally wrote home or called, depending on the year.”

“That’ll backfire,” said Petunia. “Altering memories shouldn’t be done, it’s unforgivable.”

“I think it’s the most ethical way for both words to exist together and no one being any wiser.”

“Is this a popular opinion in your world?” asked Petunia.

“My opinion is rather different from the masses of the wizarding world,” said Harry, peering off towards the living room. “Some, the more radical wizards, want annihilation of the Muggles. You’ve heard about the most recent, the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort. Then there’s the wizards that wish for our two communities to coexist, happy and safe and that another Dark Lord will never pop up again, which is ridiculous.”

“You don’t think that either of us can get along, do you?”

“No,” said Harry, “I don’t and you’re a prime example of why it’ll never happen. No offence, of course.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you were jealous when your sister got a letter and you didn’t. I cannot help but feel that jealousy will extend to complete strangers and then into the religious people who call witchcraft evil and we’ll be hunted down again and burned or shot, as Muggle shave guns now.”

Petunia sighed, unsure of what to say, so she just gestured for the boy to continue.

“We would be asked to cure diseases such as cancer or anything major that we don’t have the tools to create. Until very recently a lot of witches and wizards were dying of Dragon Pox, it almost took out a few of the eldest wizarding families.”

“Dragon Pox?”

“Think Chicken Pox, but fifty times as worse,” said Harry. “It leaves permanent scars that not even we can remove, it can turn the skin a greenish colour and it’s just horrible to experience and see. It’s been around since the early eleventh century and still no permanent cure to rid us of the disease has been created. That’s eight hundred years of research and attempted creations that have failed. Now think how long it’d take us to fix cancer.”

“That’s horrible.”

“But it’s not only that,” said Harry calmly. “As I said before, the religious people will hate us as what we have is godlike powers that take away from what they’ve been told and that threatens them and they feel as if we’re heathens or something and they’d hunt is in God’s name, as they have done before.”

“That one does make sense,” said Petunia. “It may be why Vernon dislikes magic as much as he does, he comes from a Christian family.”

“I don’t take him for the type to go to church,” said Harry with a smirk. “Never heard him utter a prayer either.”

Petunia laughed, her head shook as she did so. “No, no, heavens no, Vernon is the furthest from a Christian, but he still holds his family beliefs close.”

“Continuing on,” said Harry when his aunt stopped laughing. “The military would employ us to fight their wars, what better than an apparent super soldier that can kill instantly and silently? We can appear anywhere, go invisible and stun people with a simple flick of our hands and then alter their memories and they’d never know we were there.”

“You do make a valid point and there’s most likely hundreds of more examples you’ll give,” said petunia. “But wiping the memories of entire families just to keep your world a secret seems so excessive. I’d hate if I randomly just forgot my sister, we had so many fond memories.”

“You misunderstood, I realize I wasn’t exactly clear,” said Harry, smiling. “I meant that your memories would be altered and that the magical person would have gone away for an extended period of time. Perhaps a prestigious school somewhere, as is done now but a little more depth and clarity and all signs of magic would be removed from you and your family.”

“And then after school?” asked Petunia. “What about then?”

“Fell in love and moving in with their girlfriend or boyfriend or they simply got a job in another country, seeing as the school isn’t in England.”

Petunia thought on this for a moment before nodding slightly. “It does make sense, you’d of course have to think of a way to break the news to other siblings, as I can assure you that it becomes hard to understand why your sister or brother is better than you.”

“It’s why I was thinking that Muggleborn wizards and witches should be taken at birth and handed off to pure-blood families that cannot have children. The Muggles could be influenced to have another child to replace the one they lost, or adopt. However the flaw in this is that most wizarding children show no signs of magic until three or four.”

“That’s more unethical than just slaughtering us,” said petunia, her eyes narrowed. “Stealing babies? Jesus.”

“I have no decent way to say it,” said Harry. “Honestly, I cannot think of a better way that would suit both worlds.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person,” said Petunia after a moments pause, wondering how else she could discuss this. It just wasn’t possible. “I have no idea how politics would work, let alone your kind.”

* * *

“May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?” asked Dudley as he gave a very sweet smile.

“Oh very kind of you,” said Mrs. Mason as she handed him her coat.

Harry watched in rapt attention as the two families complimented each other as fake as possible. He knew everything that Petunia said tonight was false as she had complained to him not even four hours ago that she hated Mrs. Mason. The only person who actually seemed to enjoy the conversation was Vernon. Dudley seemed to be far more interested in the television that was in the side of his peripheral vision.

It was rather interesting to see how Muggle woman complimented each other, however.

“Oh that is such a lovely shirt,” said Petunia, looking at the piece of fabric with a smile. “Where’d you get it?”

It continued on, until every piece of clothing that was worn was eventually complimented and the two women seemed to run out of things to talk about. Honestly, it was about as fun to watch as paint drying.

“What about you?”

Harry turned with a smile on his face and looked at Mr. Mason. He wasn’t as good as Draco with masks, due to the fact that he spent six years of his life using emotion to convey everything he wanted and needed, but he was alright. “Me? Well, I’m Harry Potter,” he said, knowing that both Vernon and Petunia had concerned on their faces, not having planned for him being spoken to at all. “Aunt Petunia allowed me to spend a week at her house so that her son could tutor me, as he is rather intelligent.” It was such a hard and painful thing to say, to discredit himself and make himself look stupid. “Despite outward appearances,” he added afterwards.

The room burst into laughter, Vernon and Petunia’s laughter was of shock pretty much, but Mr. Mason’s was genuine, he actually found it funny. His boisterous laughed echoed slightly before the man shook his head. “Now lad, you’re far too modest! I’m sure that you’ve got a head on you.”

“I do, of course, but not for certain subjects, one of them is mathematics, which Dudley is good at,” said Harry, understanding that Mr. Mason wasn’t so easily swayed by simple words, he’d need to play this one out perfectly. “I just need some help catching up to my own level, and Dudley’s great with numbers.”

“Is he now?” said Mr. Mason before turning towards Vernon. “You never told me this! You know that in a few years we could pick up Dudley as an accountant, God knows we need another one with Marie leaving in a few years, she was only signed on for four years.”

“I didn’t want to brag,” said Vernon with no anger at all in his tone, he was perfectly calm, despite being set up. “I did drop a few hints and there, Mr. Mason.”

“Did you? My apologies, I must’ve never picked them up,” said Mr. Mason. “I was never good with riddles, they’re my wife’s strong suit.”

“Oh you like riddles?” said Harry, smiling devilishly. “I have one if you care to try and solve it, Mrs. Mason.”

“Ooh,” said Mrs. Mason, almost jumping up and down with delight. “I haven’t had a good riddle in ages, go ahead.”

Harry was sure that his aunt assumed it’d be a magical riddle, which he almost laughed at. “I can only live in light, but I die if the light shines on me. What am I?

Mr. Vernon scratched his head, obviously confused. As did Dudley and Vernon, the only people who actually thought about it were Petunia and Mrs. Mason.

“That one is tricky,” said Mrs. Mason, humming.

‘ _If you’re five, perhaps_ ,’ said Tom in his usual sneering tone of voice. ‘ _You know much harder riddles, even if they are magical, just tell them those_.’

“So it can only live in light, but it dies if light is shone on it?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

“I have no idea,” said Petunia after a few moments of silence. “It is pretty hard.”

“I’m not done yet,” said Mrs. Mason. “I’m doing some calculations in my head.”

It went on for a while and Harry was already bored, he did debate just using Legilimency and putting the answer in someone’s head so they would say it, but that would be boring and the more of the night this chat took up the better.

“Okay,” said Mrs. Mason after five minutes of thinking. “I have no idea. I must say, that one is difficult.”

“The answer is a shadow,” said Harry, forcing himself to not roll his eyes.

“OH!”

Harry almost jumped when Mrs. Mason screamed the word, as if she finally understood the secret to all her problems.

“It makes such perfect sense now, I was so silly to not understand it!” said Mrs. Mason, smiling. She sent her husband an appreciated glance, seemingly sated of her logical issues for now.

Harry didn’t interact with the Masons much after that little event, instead he sat back and carefully watched the interactions once more, especially when the cake came up and Petunia seemed nervous due to it being fixed with magic. He had caught a lot of titbits of information, leaning that Mr. Mason was quite high in the firm that Vernon worked at, also learning that he had a son that was sent off to a prestigious in America somewhere, or something like that.

Mr. Mason was average, and that was putting it nicely, and didn’t do anything in his life that seemed to be all that exciting. No extended family trips, no exciting events or rare occupants in his life and he was a man that stood by his job, at all costs. The only activity he did outside of work was gold, and even then it was with work colleagues. The man was actually decent at golf, or at least he claimed with some rather impressive and most likely exaggerated scorecards that he had received once.

Mrs. Mason on the other hand was very similar to Petunia, at least in aspects regarding the whole housewife thing, as if her career was to simply remain at home and cook and clean, which must be tiring. She enjoyed various gossiping groups as well as an active book club that was seen as ‘exclusive’ and ‘hard to get into’. She treasured her son and wore his accomplishments as if they were her own and she had done them. First off, unlike her husband, she assumed her son had gone to a school around the Poland area, which was dubbed as prestigious and nothing but accommodating.

Harry soon had compiled everything about the two and their obviously quiet life and he decided to just filter it away in case he ever needed it, who knew how useful this could be in the future if he was ever in the Muggle world and needed something.

The night slowly calmed down and the conversation had slowed and drinks of what looked like cheap champagne was being handed out to the adults, who acted as if they were wealthy and drank it with horrible skills and were actually pretty much done before a few glasses were handed out, of course they stayed under the limit, at least the Masons did as they had to drive home.

Harry had heard the name Mason in the wizarding world, it hit him after they had already left and it prompted searching as surely they couldn’t be related to these Masons. It wasn’t a known family, nor was it a wealthy family, but it was still a wizarding family that survived the Dark Lord’s reign, so they must’ve had something to offer.

He said his goodnights to Petunia and Vernon, who were still awake, and headed for bed, intent to sort this out and figure out if these Masons were the same as the wizarding kind, as it seemed probable.


	5. From Good to Bad

Chapter 5 – **From Good to Bad**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 7/April/2016_

* * *

Harry had been at the Dursley’s house for a few weeks, almost an entire month, which meant that his birthday was just around the corner. He hadn’t gotten a letter from anyone, which surprised him to no amount and he wondered what was happening that made everyone so hush and secret about it. It didn’t exactly bother him at all, despite the fact he felt odd for not talking to Draco at all, but he knew his friend was probably just as annoyed as him for being hidden away. The Malfoy Manor could almost house half of Hogwarts easily and Draco had been left home alone before as well, over countless weeks so this time it shouldn’t have been an issue, unless it was asked of Draco to go somewhere else so they didn’t talk and the surprise was ruined.

Over the long period, another one of Vernon’s business contacts came around for dinner, but this one wasn’t as fancy as the one with the Masons. He avoided that one and was thanked for it as it was a family meeting and while he may be family, it was wise that his presence here wasn’t shown to many people, especially considering his effect on people to make them curious and they didn’t wish to keep answering the same questions.

He was sitting on the end of the bed reading a book, one that he had already read twice in the same week, this was the third read through, when he heard a soft rapping on the window, being a wizard, and familiar with the sound, he was instantly able to learn that the sound was from an owl. The moment the window was open, the owl flew into the room and perched itself on the bedside table, flicking out its leg so that the wizard could take the note attached to it. He gently took the letter from the owl and began reading it.

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_I do hope that my letter finds you at a time where you’re not busy or doing something that you shouldn’t be! Regardless, I must send this letter now, no more delay, as I have given it in the previous weeks. I was simply waiting for your letter and it simply slipped my mind that I told you that I would be writing first, I’m not sure if you heard that, however, as you seemed rather preoccupied. My time is on Earth is limited and so is yours. Do forgive my subtle and horrible manipulations, as I am not a manipulator, but you must realize that this issue is one that must be handled as quickly as possible._

_My beautiful wife, Perenelle, has found something rather intriguing and we would love to investigate that. I realise that we have lived a very long time, but there’s still so much to explore that I know it’d take more than one lifetime, or in our case, six._

_Forgive my rambling, but it has been a while since I’ve written a letter, due to the fact that I prefer more face to face meetings rather than staring a piece of parchment. I did a recent check and I have around six months of you-know-what left, give or take a few bottles. You, being the talented little boy you are, will be able to help me with the preparation. Potions was hardly my strong suit and Perenelle claims that I am annoying to work with and that she refused to aid me._

_She calls me childish, of all things!_

_I may be six hundred and sixty-five, but that doesn’t mean that I’m proficient in every branch of magic, for example, I am rather horrid at creating potions and my ability in Transfiguration would make most appear to be masters of the subject. Astrology, Astronomy, Alchemy and Spell Creation were my strongest suits, I believe the saying goes now._

_I do believe that we could work well together as you-know-what requires a decent grasp on Alchemy and Potions. You may be eleven, almost twelve, but I have heard from Albus countless time that your ability in Potions is greater than his own and even the youngest Potions Master in centuries, Severus Snape._

_Perhaps that title will be yours, soon._

_I’ll teach you all about Alchemy, Spell Creation and anything else that you wish to learn in help for this, Mr. Potter. You’re a Slytherin, I’m sure that you’ll find this more in your favour rather than mine – not that I know how that house works at all._

_Forgive my bird, she won’t stay. We bonded ages ago and thus she inherited some of my traits, and refusing to linger is one of them._

_Je serai au même endroit que nous nous sommes rencontrés tous les jours jusqu'à la rentrée scolaire. Je suis un homme très patient, Monsieur Potter, mais cela ne signifie pas que vous pouvez me faire attendre jusqu'à ce que le dernier jour!_

_Regards,_

_Nicolas Flamel_

Harry rubbed his forehead and glanced towards the bedside table, where the owl had already vacated and was out the window almost silently. It did make him miss Nagini even more than he did already, especially considering he wouldn’t see her for another year because of whatever was going on that he wasn’t informed about.

He understood the meaning of the letter almost instantly and didn’t have any issue deciphering the meaning behind a lot of the words. Nicolas Flamel was running out of the Elixir of Life and he needed the Stone to make more. He had read that the man wasn’t very good at manipulation, despite his age and should have perfected it years along, he guessed it just wasn’t in the man’s nature to do it. He’d be a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, most likely the former. He flicked the letter into his already slightly open trunk and let out a sigh.

Another issue was the French in the letter, he had no idea what the heck it was as he hardly even understood the language. He knew that monsieur meant mister, but aside from that, he had no idea.

He fell back onto the bed cursing Nicolas Flamel in his head and the fact that he didn’t understand the French, as it looked important, even more if it was in French.

Oddly enough, he actually missed Draco and the fact that he just fell onto his bed sighing like Draco does when he didn’t get something that he wanted made it that much more worse. He and Draco had been close since they were babies and even then small children and they always spoke almost daily. This was the longest time ever that the two had been apart and not spoken to one and another. The more he thought about Draco, the more painful it felt. Resigning to his fate that he would hopefully see his best friend soon, he pulled himself up from the bed with a frown.

“Are you alright, Harry?” asked Petunia, knocking on the door. “You didn’t come down for breakfast or lunch. I was getting worried.”

Harry found it odd that his aunt was worried about him. Yes, they had been on decent speaking terms and actually somewhat connected over the experience, but he did assume that she had better things to do than come into his room and make sure he was alright. “I’m fine, just thinking,” he said, lifting himself up from the bed. “First time in years that I haven’t seen or written to a friend. It just feels odd, you know. I’m used to him just being there listening to my pointless complaining and rants about this and that.”

“So it’s a situation to the one that Lily and I had?”

“Yeah,” replied Harry. “I guess so.”

“You should write him a letter,” said Petunia. “I’d offer you the phone, but I doubt he would have a Muggle phone.”

“I may just do that, thank you, Aunt Petunia.”

“No issue,” said Petunia, walking out the door. “If you want anything to eat, just grab it from the fridge.”

* * *

Three days went by and Harry had already written three drafts for Nicolas Flamel, each one tossed aside and he started again. He needed the wording perfect and the pace of the letter to appear as if he knew what he was doing. He had written about fifteen for Draco, not that any were sent or anything. He was getting edgy about it as he needed to talk to Nicolas about the Stone and get the plan in motion and he couldn’t do that from here! He would blame his parents if Nicolas Flamel died and it took away his chance at immortality, even if he did have the Stone that he worked so hard to get.

He did debate about going for a walk, seeing as day was surprisingly warm and rather hot, around the block of the cookie cutter houses in an attempt to clear his head from the thoughts and irritation that seemed to lurk in it. He glanced out the window of his room and looking at the formation of clouds that had formed in the sky, doing nothing to hinder the heat that was pushing down on the street.

“Don’t you dare!” screamed a boy. “If you do that you’ll regret it!”

Harry glared at the boy and his older brother, who were in the backyard of the house directly next to them. The kid was tossing water at his brother and the two of them seemed to be enjoying themselves, bursting into fits of laughter whenever one was hit by the other. He watched as the oldest, or what appeared to be the oldest, sprayed the other boy with the hose.

It was an odd feeling watching the boys act like children as he never did things like that. He was certain that the two boys were older than him by a few years, the youngest looking fourteen and the elder one looking about sixteen. He would have never done anything like that while young, probably because he didn’t have a sibling and was an only child, but Draco never would have done something like that, they were contempt to just play Quidditch or read. He would never regret it, he would never doubt it.

“Hey, Harry, what are you doing?”

Harry would have jumped if he hadn’t already heard Dudley approaching. “Hello, Dudley,” he said, not looking back. “I was just watching the sky as I don’t feel like reading at the moment, need to give my eyes a rest.”

“Oh,” said Dudley, he glanced around the room and frowned. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that, actually. Why do you read so much? I swear I see you with a different book each day.”

“Knowledge is power,” said Harry rather stiffly, his tone the same but it had something else in it. He assumed that most would be used to it by now, but he forgot that Dudley has no reason to have ever heard it before. He avoided the one that Voldemort had said, the one about good and evil, despite it being decent, he was sure that Dumbledore would be on his case instantly. “Nothing is better than a good book, one that that you can lose yourself in and gain an ample amount of knowledge.”

“Knowledge is power?” repeated Dudley, a sceptical expression on his face as if he hardly even understand what the three words meant. “What does it mean, Harry?”

Harry could help but smirk as he looked out the window, at the two boys who were still spraying each other with water. “It means what it implies,” he said. “Scientia potentia est.”

“I don’t understand what that language is, or what it even means,” said Dudley slowly, watching his cousin glance out the window as if he was a crazy villain from one of the television shows he had watched.

“It’s Latin, Latin for knowledge is power. Sir Francis Bacon wrote about it, just in a different way, but it all falls back to him,” said Harry, his eyes falling from the boys and towards his cousin. “I believe that simple three word phrase, Dudley, I believe that it’s correct and that it’ll help make me stronger than ever simply because it’s correct. I live for power, Dudley, it’s what I seek, what I want, what I need. I read as much as I do because I soak that knowledge up. I can tell you anything about snakes, anything at all, even mythical ones. I learned about Jörmungandr while most other children were still learning to read basic words.”

“I honestly have no idea what that is,” said Dudley, not exactly caring about how he looked at the moment.

“Jörmungandr is a sea serpent in Norse mythology. The serpent grew so large that he was able to surround the earth and grasp his own tail. As a result, he received the name of the Midgard Serpent or World Serpent. When he lets go, the world will end,” explained Harry, just as he had back in Hogwarts to most of the Slytherin students. “That’s putting it simply.”

“Why would you seek power though?” asked Dudley, remembering back to one of the shows he watched recently. “It’ll always cause issues in the end, won’t it?”

“Why wouldn’t you,” said Harry instantly, not phrasing it as a question. “I personally have such a high ambition to be greater than everyone else, to prove that I’m not just a regular person and that I can do anything I want and do it better than anyone else. I want people to respect what I say, to treat me with the respect I deserve. I don’t want to be ignored and cast off to the side as if I were some reject. If I have intelligence, which means I’ll have power, people won’t question what I say.”

“I cannot argue with that,” said Dudley, unaware of what he was really supporting. “I mean, I’m not as smart as you, clearly, but I get by.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” said Harry with a smirk. “I’ve seen how smart you can actually be and you cannot deny it as I was with you and saw your scores. You intentionally hold yourself back. Don’t think I didn’t notice it, I am perceptive after all. You want to mask your intelligence.”

“Well… maybe, but I – I don’t know,” said Dudley, stuttering on his words slightly. “People at school don’t respect that. I’m sure you noticed it during your day there, it’s not common to be smart at Smeltings. The main focus is physical related classes, they’re the ones everyone tries in. Most of us go off to do manual labour jobs, I’m no different. I want to follow in dad’s footsteps.”

“That’s respectable,” said Harry. “At least in some sense it is. I’d follow in my father’s footsteps, but they’re far too small to fill and I have plans bigger than what he has accomplished. My plans are bigger than him.”

“That’s a shocking thing to say. Don’t you and your dad get along?”

“Not exactly,” said Harry after a brief silence. “It was always mother and I in some sense, at least most of the time. He was hardly around and I guess I just got used to it. Mother was enough that I never actually sought him out.”

“Well, I guess, I dunno though, maybe you should try and talk to him or something?” said Dudley slightly awkwardly, his shoulders instantly shrugging as he spoke. “You’re good with words, I’m sure you could make him see what you mean easily.”

“I’ve attempted that and more,” said Harry bluntly. “There’s only so many hints that I can drop around him to try and make him understand what I need and want. I’m honestly sick of trying with him. It should be him that tries to get my attention, not the other way around, he’s the parent, why should I be the one putting in so much more work?”

“That’s just how these things work.”

“I’m pretty sure a father is meant to prioritise his son over filling out some forms.”

“I dunno,” said Dudley. “You should try speaking to him, that’s what I’d do if I were in your situation.”

“You’ve never met my father,” said Harry. “He’s an idiot, he’s simple-minded and highly prejudiced. That’s putting it nicely. It’s just a waste of time.”

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the week not talking or thinking about James, who had pretty much lost his father status in his head, not that he would say that out loud. He didn’t think about James, didn’t talk about James. James who? He would think and just nod, that was good enough.

He opened one of his oldest books, the spine of the book was slightly wrinkled from the constant use and the cover had sustained some damage, none by him, and that was about it due to the magical charms on the book. He picked up a quill and some ink from his trunk and began to translate the book from Old English into a more modern English, which was easier said than done as he had no reference material on the language. He managed to translate a select few words in the few hours each day that he was doing it. Foreign languages were far from his strong suit, he hated learning new languages, it was complicated and nothing at all like Parseltongue, which came instantly.

His patience slowly slipped constantly as the days went by. The entire time that he had been here, he hadn’t received not one letter from his parents at all, he didn’t blame the Malfoys as he knew they didn’t want to get him in trouble, but his parents should have known better, his mother especially. She should have known that dumping him off here would just annoy him and make him angry and highly irate. He may have some anti-social tendencies, but being alone was something he disliked, especially in an unfamiliar place. That was probably why he and Draco got along well, they would follow each other around with complaint, heck even into the bathroom and neither would say anything.

A few hours later, Harry found himself in the garden, sitting under a tree that gave shade to a vast majority of the garden. His hands, as if on autopilot, sought out a weed and pulled it from the garden, tossing it towards the ever-growing pile to his right. He actually enjoyed gardening, despite all belief, it was fun and it was relaxing. When he told his aunt that he was going out to do some weeding, she glanced at him like he had three heads.

“ **Filthy human, destroying my nesting place** ,” hissed a snake, watching the human gripping plants and pulling them away. “ **I should bite you**.”

Harry didn’t flinch or jump at the snake-like voice, instead he just le tout a small chuckle. “ **Are you alright there, Miss. Attitude**?” he hissed, watching as the snake tilted its head slightly. “ **I’m cleaning your nesting place, actually, getting rid of all the bad plants**.”

“ **So they were not lying, there has been much conversation about a speaker in the area** ,” hissed the snake softly as it slithered across the grass and rested its head on the speaker’s leg. “ **I did not expect you to be here though, I sensed you before, but ignored the feeling**.”

“ **You sensed me here**?” hissed Harry in a questioning matter, he glanced at the snake who tried to make herself look adorable, of all things.

“ **Foolish speaker, youngling, just out of the nest I guess** ,” hissed the snake sarcastically, with a sound that sounded like a snort. “ **You can speak to us, the connection is on our end. We can sense you, find you, whispering things to you, listen to you. We’re not just simple creatures, we are far more intelligent than that. We continue to seek out speakers because they teach us, talk to us and most important of all, soothe us. How do you think we serpents have learned about you humans**?”

“ **I just assumed that you knew it all** ,” said harry with a slight shrug of his shoulders, although he did yank out a stubborn weed at the same time.

“ **Foolish speaker, you are uneducated on us snakes, which is offensive**!” hissed the snake haughtily. “ **Everything we know is told to us by speakers, we didn’t just know that you humans live in large nests which hold pointless things that we shouldn’t try and eat**.”

“ **You then pass on that information between snakes**.”

“ **Yes, speaker, it’s different from each speaker, some tell snakes everything, others not at all** ,” hissed the snake. “ **It is the speaker that defines our language, it is you who adds words for us, but that isn’t something you’ll be able to do until you’re no longer a little hatchling**.”

“ **I’m eleven, I’m not little** ,” hissed Harry, eyeing the snake carefully. “ **But I’ll have to look into, there’s not much books on what language this is, I haven’t found anything.** ”

The snake made a sound that sounded like a laugh, it went on for a while before she got it under wraps. “ **Oh, hatchling, what are you doing to me? You amuse me**.”

“ **I’m glad I amuse you, look, I have to go in and have dinner. I assume you’ll be staying around here**?”

“ **Yes, speaker, I’ll be around, go eat some rats** ,” hissed the snake and slithered into the garden, hiding under a shrub.

Harry screwed up his face but walked towards the tap, he paused in front of it and wiped the dirt from his knees and quickly washed his hands. He sent the snake one last glance before walking inside through the backdoor. He greeted the Dursleys and quickly made his way upstairs, not hungry after the snake made a reference about him eating a rat. He of course did inform his aunt that he wasn’t hungry and that he would make it up to her later for wasting food. Of course she said doing the gardening was enough, but he insisted that he do something else to help her.

* * *

“I’ll cook tonight, Aunt Petunia,” said Harry the following night, which was the night of his birthday, not that they knew that. “I’m great at cooking.”

Petunia paused in the kitchen, which she was just about to start preparing dinner. “Are you?” she asked, looking around the kitchen confused. “I had no idea, you’ve never said anything about that so far.”

“I’m just that great,” said Harry with a smile. “I can do everything.”

“Alright, master chef, what are you going to be cooking tonight?”

Harry had no idea what he was going to cook. “I have no idea,” he said and before his aunt’s face could change from that knowing look he quickly held up his hand. “But that is, of course, a part of the surprise meal that you’ll be getting.”

Petunia’s lips formed into a very fine line and she glanced at her nephew. “Are you sure you know how to actually cook?”

“I promise,” said Harry, holding his hand over his heart. “I used to cook with mother when I was younger. We’d make breakfast together and it was a massive hit and no one got food poisoning. It’ll be fine, but I do have one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“No one steps foot into the kitchen,” he said, looking around. “If you require a drink or something, you can knock on the door three times and then say what you want and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Alright,” said Petunia. “I’ll go and let the others know, good luck, Harry.”

Harry smiled as she left, counting to ten his head and then straightened his back and began shifting around in the cupboards. He pulled out with a scowl on his face. ‘Where are the cursed saucepans?’ he thought as he shifted around moving to another cupboard. “Mopsy wo –”

“Little Master being calling?”

“Not on purpose, but you can assist me,” said Harry. “I have no idea why I didn’t think of it before.”

Mopsy nodded.

“Can you cook dinner for us, and by us I mean the Dursleys and myself.”

“Mopsy wills be making Little Master dinner. Mopsy will be making dinner for the Muggles ins the other rooms to.”

“Great, you’re a life-saver, Mopsy,” said Harry. “If you could make a nice steak with potatoes, vegetables and maybe some pasta that would be great.”

Mopsy had a shine to her eyes, she wiped them on her bright pink pillowcase and sniffed as she pulled out things to help cook. “Mopsy will be making Little Masters food, Mopsy loves serving Little Master.”

“Mopsy, if someone is going to enter the kitchen, could you perhaps vanish until they leave?” said Harry, wincing as someone walked straight by the door and knocked a few times.

“Could I have a glass of orange juice and two teas?”

“Of course, Aunt Petunia,” said Harry. “It’ll be right there, just a second.”

“Little master is far to kind, very kind. Mopsy wills be vanishing if any Muggle comes near,” said Mopsy while placing potatoes in a bowl and using her little house-elf magic to vanish the peels that were left behind. She absentmindedly cleaned the counter tops using magic.

Harry stood around in the kitchen and picked up a glass before it vanished from his hands, he turned around with a sheepish expression and looked at Mopsy, who had her hands on her hips and the glass in her hand. “Sorry, Mopsy,” he muttered.

“It’s okay Little Master, Mopsy will bes pouring these then you can take them to the Muggles,” said Mopsy as she poured the cups, using magic of course. “Heres you go, Little Master.”

Harry took the drinks, not realising that Mopsy had already made the tea while he was doing something else, and nudged open the door slightly, making sure to keep it closed so that no one would see Mopsy. He highly doubted the Dursleys would appreciate the house-elf in their kitchen, cooking their food. He gently placed the trey on the coffee table and smiled at them. “Here you are,” he said, handing the tea towards Vernon and Petunia and the glass of orange juice to his cousin, who instantly began drinking it.

“Thank you,” said Petunia softly, picking up the tea, which was oddly the perfect temperature, but she made no comment. “I honestly cannot wait to try what you have made.”

Vernon grunted in agreement.

Harry gave an awkward head nod and rushed back into the kitchen, his eyes fell on the small dining table and his mouth opened before he closed it. It appeared that Mopsy went above and beyond and decided to set the table while she cooked the meal. He glanced at each sitting spot and realized that it was perfect for how the Dursleys ate. “Mopsy, this is perfect,” he whispered under his breath.

“Mopsy is being glad Little Master approves,” said Mopsy with watery eyes. “Mopsy hopes that Little Master enjoys his dinner.” She started to serve the food at a rapid rate. “Mopsy is being back to the Malfoy Manor, Mopsy will hopefully see Little Master again soon.”

Harry said his farewell and watched as the little house-elf popped away softly. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door and called out to the Dursleys for them to come and eat.

“This smells great, Harry,” said petunia as she sat down, looking at the meal with approval.

“I had no idea that you could cook,” said Dudley as he jumped into his seat and eagerly picked up his knife and forked, sniffing the air.

“Hmm,” said Vernon, nudging around the food with his knife. “Perfectly cooked. Nice job.”

Harry joined in the meal, sitting at his usual position at the table, with a smile and kept brushing off the compliments with ease. He kept a smile on his face as he continued to eat the meal that Mopsy had made and was sure that the house-elf put everything she could into the meal. He muttered a thank you every time they complimented him and the meal, as he should have, even if it wasn’t him that cooked it. The one thing he would do was pass on the compliments to Mopsy, who would most likely be overly thrilled for them.

His smile never faded, it just got stronger the more the night went on and it morphed into a triumphant smirk when Dudley yawned. He had used a relatively simple potion in the food, he was sure that Mopsy saw him add it, but she wouldn’t say anything. It wasn’t a well-known potion and only one person knows how to make it and that was him. The potion caused the person who digested it to become suddenly tired and had a minor compulsion to go to bed, no matter the time.

He watched in silence as each of them got up and said they were tired and going to bed, the best thing is that none of them questioned it. He pulled out his wand and vanished the food, which was just trace amounts of crumbs and some bones and sent them towards the sink. He had no idea how to do the spell that did the dishes autonomously.

He walked towards the door and snuck out, gently closing the front door behind him.

* * *

“Oh, Mistress Narcissa!” wailed Mopsy the moment she entered the room, her small hands tugging on her ears. “Mopsy has done bad, very bad!”

Narcissa closed her book and looked at the house-elf with a concerned facial expression. “Mopsy, please calm down,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

“Mopsy was watching Little Master and something happened! Little Master was attacked by a Muggle man and white light surrounded them both, Mopsy watched as Little Master fell over!” said Mopsy, her eyes glistening with tears. “Mopsy will being punished now!”

“Where is Harry?” asked Narcissa, standing up instantly.

“Mopsy put Little Master in his room!” wailed Mopsy and picked up a nearby candlestick and attempted to hit herself with it.

Narcissa summoned the candlestick from the sobbing house-elf’s hands. “Mopsy, Harry will not be impress if he finds out you punished yourself, you know he doesn’t like it, it makes him cry.” It was a lie, Harry wouldn’t cry, but he would glare at the thing and try and soothe it. “You did well, Mopsy, you saved his life.”

“Mopsy being doing well?” asked Mopsy, her eyes filling with tears once more. “Mopsy being a good house-elf to Little Master?”

“Yes, Mopsy,” said Narcissa. “Now please go and fetch Harry’s things from the Muggle House and leave a note for them, saying that we collected him.”

Mopsy nodded and vanished with a crack.

Narcissa sent a quick Patronus to Lucius and made her way into Harry’s bedroom.


	6. This Is My Sister: Selene Malfoy

Chapter 6 – **This Is My Sister: Selene Malfoy**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 11/April/2016_

* * *

Narcissa very gently pushed open the door that led into Harry’s bedroom, not wanting to wake him up. She pushed it open slowly and peered into the room and abruptly stopped before sending Mopsy a glance, who was standing near the wall and appeared as if she was about three seconds away from tears. She fully opened the door and smiled when she saw that Harry was already fast asleep and in his pyjamas, obviously the work of Mopsy. She took a small step into the room and quickly learned that Harry wasn’t alone. She took a step backwards as soon as she saw Harry’s pet snake lift its head towards her.

“Mistress Narcissa, Mopsy is being making sure that Little Master will being sleeping,” said Mopsy, edging closer to the door. “Mopsy will being letting Little Master rest now.”

Getting the feeling that the house-elf was dismissing her, Narcissa decided that she would go and talk to Draco about it. “Alright, Mopsy, you look after Harry,” she said and left the room, shutting the door with a soft click. “Thank you, Mopsy.”

Mopsy bowed and vanished with a soft pop.

Narcissa, not wasting anytime, walked down the hall and found herself at her son’s door in no less than fifteen steps. The two had been adamant that their rooms were as close as possible and no one fought against it. She was surprised that her son hadn’t heard the commotion though, normally he’d be poking his head out the door the instant he heard footsteps. Of course, the timing was impeccable and Draco had gotten home just this morning, apparently driving Andromeda insane with his rambling about Harry’s birthday.

It completely slipped her mind until now to actually inform Lily and James about their son, although she’d have to do it as soon as possible to avoid an Auror investigation as magic was clearly used.

“Hello, mother,” said Draco as he heard the knock and the door being opened. “What are you doing here? I assume fathers back.”

“Not quite, Draco,” said Narcissa, stepping into the room. “We, and by that I mean Mopsy, found Harry unconscious out on a Muggle street.”

Draco instantly stood and looked around the room.

“He was brought straight back here and tucked into bed so that he can rest,” said Narcissa, putting extra emphasis on rest. “The wards must have triggered that he was in danger. Thankfully Lucius added him a while ago, else he could have spent all night there.”

“The wards?” asked Draco, leaning forwards slightly, as if to make a break for his friend. “I never knew anything about these wards.”

Narcissa couldn’t help but chuckle at her son, who seemed as if he was worried, annoyed and curious at the same time. “Every family adds their children to them and has an anchor for them some use clocks and others use portraits, it depends on how the family follows traditions. The moment any child that is keyed into them is in danger an alert is sounded, the issue is that it hardly works correct while the child is in a Muggle area, such as Harry was. Ambient magic assists with it.”

“I’m confused,” said Draco. “What do we use as our anchor point?”

“The Malfoy anchor point is a well-kept secret and will remain that way until you turn seventeen,” said Narcissa. “The Black is what you’d expect from our family, some depressing and dark artefact.”

“That’s rather exciting,” said Draco. “So is Harry alright?”

“Yes,” said Narcissa. “He was picked up by a house-elf before the alert even sounded and that’s because Mopsy is bonded to him and knows where he is and what he is doing because he recently called her.”

“Wait, Harry is added to our wards? Why was I never informed?”

“You were,” said Narcissa with one of her smiles that made even Lucius curious on why she was smiling. “When you were about three, you must have forgotten. On the contrary, Harry was never informed and when he wakes up he may be confused, but we must find out what exactly happened in case it requires the aid of the Obliviator Squad. Harry obviously did magic, whether accidental or not, why the Ministry didn’t appear is a question that must be answered.”

“Knowing Harry, he most likely removed the trace accidently and now can cast magic anywhere,” said Draco with a slight frown, hoping that his friend would inform him if that was the case. “Is he still asleep?”

“Yes, somehow his pet snake has joined him,” said Narcissa, glancing at her son carefully. “Did you let the snake in?”

“No, mother,” said Draco, looking around for said snake. “I had no idea it was even here. Perhaps it sensed Harry in danger and simply went to check on him?”

Narcissa ignored the fact that her son was slowly creeping forwards, most likely in an attempt to escape the room. She stood in front of the door with her eyes narrowed on her son. She was sure that he wouldn’t lie about letting the snake in and it did seem as if he was just as surprised as her. “Very well,” she said, dropping her arms to her side. “It would be very wise of us to allow Harry some degree of rest.”

“But –”

“You can wish him a happy birthday in the morning,” said Narcissa, smiling. “I’m sure he won’t hold it against you.”

“I guess,” said Draco, following his mother from his room, the letter that he had written to Harry was left forgotten on the desk, not that he really needed it now. “Harry needs his beauty sleep, if he doesn’t get the required hours, it’d be like staring at a hag or something.”

“He isn’t that bad.”

“His hair is a right mess in the mornings, mother,” said Draco, as if this was common knowledge. “It’s why he gets up so early, so he can make it look decent.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Narcissa. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good.”

“Is father home from the Ministry yet?”

Narcissa walked silently for a few steps. “He should still be at the Ministry, however he did say something about being home a bit later – don’t ask, I have no idea what’s keeping him. Hopefully he’ll be back before midnight, unlike the other day where he came home at one in the morning, ridiculous.”

“I wonder what they’re even doing there,” said Draco, pausing as they walked by Harry’s room.

“You’ll see him in the morning, Draco, let him rest. A full night’s sleep should do him some good,” said Narcissa. “How about we play a quick game of chess while we wait for your father to return from work?”

“If it’s not Harry, it’s you,” said Draco, smirking. “Everyone who’s decent at chess always challenges me and then proceed to wipe the floor with me and laugh about it, in case you’re wondering, it’s Harry who says that, no one else.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Narcissa, gesturing towards the cupboard. “Would you kindly fetch the chessboard, Draco?”

Draco walked over and pulled out the marble chessboard, placing it on the table between the two armchairs and smiled at his mother. “What colour would you like to be, mother? The lady chooses first, after all.”

“Don’t even try to use the same tactics that Harry uses,” said Narcissa, looking at her son with a shake of her head. “Harry has used that very same tactic more times than I can count and it gets him nowhere. I often take black simply because he likes going black.”

“I was just being polite, mother,” said Draco, his eyes narrowed on her. “He throws a fit when I take black from him.”

“The ‘I was just being polite’ line is also one that Harry uses frequently,” said Narcissa, smirking behind her cup. “You have spent far too much time with him, Draco, his subtle flattery is rubbing off on you. I trust that you’ll soon start to use his actual tactics that he uses while playing – what does he call it? The Pawn Barrage?”

“The Pawn Blitz,” said Draco. “That’s what he calls it. The move shouldn’t even work as its stupid, but it does.”

“It’s actually a decent tactic, just not for long games.”

“What do you mean?”

“It works wonders,” said Narcissa, shifting one of her pieces forwards. “Assuming the other player is overwhelmed by the sheer force of the attack that they panic and move their pieces wrong and then Harry takes advantage of that and the match is over in no less than twenty moves.”

“Knowing Harry he probably uses Legilimency to win in chess.”

Narcissa snorted and quickly took a sip of her drink, apologizing.

“What?”

“He does.”

“He does what?”

“Use Legilimency, Draco, keep up,” said Narcissa, trying her hardest trying to not laugh at the scandalised expression on her son’s face. “You really had no idea? This is _perfect_. Harry being able to cast the spell both wandlessly and nonverbally just tempts him more than usual. He abused the fact that almost no one can defend against it either and uses it subtly, but he does use it.”

“That cheat!” hissed Draco, shifting one of his pawns straight into the position where his mother wanted it, not that she let on. “That cheat!”

“Don’t repeat yourself, dear,” said Narcissa. “I have no solid proof and he is actually good at chess, but you never know.”

“All those stupid bets he made me do over chess matches,” raged Draco. “He always seemed to know what I had in mind, always!”

“What stupid bets?” asked Narcissa, smirking. “As you eloquently put it.”

“Bets?” repeated Draco. “Oh, they don’t matter now, not important.”

Narcissa smiled at her son as he avoided the bets he did, which were most likely simple dares or a mino0r game of Truth or Dare. “Most people were sure that Harry would be in Ravenclaw, but I expected him to go straight to Slytherin, as did Lucius.”

“Of course,” said Draco, huffing. “If he cheats at chess, he’d be in Slytherin.”

“Remember, there’s no solid proof. Harry is actually decent at chess, he has a brilliant mind and one that can create strategies on the go, hence why he’s decent at chess, along with the fact he knows most of us like books due to the two hundred odd games we’ve played.”

“Cheating isn’t being cunning.”

“It technically is,” said Narcissa, shifting her knight. “In a sense, he’s the ultimate Slytherin if he’s been cheating, but I do doubt it.”

“You’re not going to cheat, are you?” said Draco, his eyes narrowed in an accusing manner.

Narcissa laughed and shook her head slightly. “No at all, Draco,” she said. “As you’re aware, the only Black that can actually perform Legilimency is Bellatrix and no one else, not even half out ancestors could do it, despite what we claim. The big, bad, dark family had to uphold our reputation and simply claimed that we could. Bellatrix is the first Black in almost seven decades to actually perform Legilimency successfully.”

“What about the Malfoy line?”

“The Malfoy is similar to the Black line, except rather proficient in Occlumency, at least in later years,” said Narcissa, quickly moving her queen to safety. “I personally cannot do Legilimency, but I am a capable Occlumens, so you have no worry about me using Legilimency on you.”

“How does he even get away with it?” said Draco, in a brooding tone of voice. “No one even realized and I doubt I would have until now.”

“Harry has performed Legilimency on you countless times,” said Narcissa. “He has to in order for you to learn the practical side of Occlumency.”

“I know that,” said Draco. “I meant during chess.”

“When he enters your mind normally, how does it feel?”

Draco blushed slightly. “It feels warm, but a natural warm, like I just remembered something that makes me happy.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows.

“I mean,” started Draco, his blush deepening. “When he enters my head, I feel nothing in particular, but when Professor Snape does it, it hurts slightly.”

“That makes very little sense,” said Narcissa. “Unless of course – no, it’s cannot be.”

“Mother, you’re rambling.”

“Of course,” said Narcissa putting her son in check, which she took pride in, especially his reaction after she said the simple word. “Harry could have done something to your mind, which makes it alert you with the pain of a slight stinging hex, which would cause you to break eye contact.”

“Is that even possible?” said Draco, moving his king from check, only just managing it.

“Yes,” said Narcissa with her normal elegant tone, but something hidden behind it. “I need to study it more before I can give any definite answers.”

Draco nodded and shifted around his pieces, hoping to somehow corner his mother and get her with a quick and easy checkmate, but it wasn’t going to plan. “Harry has been teaching me Occlumency during out first year at school, he said it’d do me good to have the ability now that he was around others.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was only an hour or two a week, but it was enough.”

“What method is he teaching you?” asked Narcissa hastily moving her bishop out of the way, she needed that piece to checkmate her son. “There’s multiple ways to put Occlumency in practice, not all are known and practiced, but they count. I assume it’s one of two more common methods. You’re disguising your real emotions with fake ones, so when a Legilimens looks into your mind he or she sees the fake memories and is swindled, a real Slytherin approach.”

“He’s teaching me to hide my real memories,” said Draco. “He said that forcing people out of your head was how a Gryffindor would do it as it would work, but give away your talent in Occlumency.”

“I should be upset that he’s teaching my son more than me,” said Narcissa almost sadly. “But a natural Occlumens will always be better than a taught Occlumens.”

“Mother.”

“I’m fine, Draco,” said Narcissa, a smile in place. “I was merely exaggerating. What has he taught you to do so far?”

“He had me change the outcome of a Quidditch match, making the team that lost into the team that won, it took almost a year to do.”

“Excellent.”

“What are you plotting, mother?”

“I’m certain that he isn’t using Legilimency during chess,” said Narcissa. “Severus Snape is a practiced – wait – no – a master Occlumens who would sense the instant someone was in his head, and I assure you that Harry does just as well against Severus.”

Draco didn’t say anything, he just listened to his mother as she continued on describing her plan and that she did believe Harry wouldn’t cheat in a chess game. By the time that his focus snapped back to her words, he already missed part of her speech, which irritated him.

“– it would be wise to utilize your Occlumency just in case, but my other plan will be in effect.”

Draco’s smile fell slightly. ‘What other plan?’ he thought as he nodded along with her words.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes mother,” said Draco. “Although, I’d love some better insight into this plan of yours.”

“Checkmate,” said Narcissa, a very smug grin filled her facial expression, the groan her son made was just adding to it the more time went on. She barely gave her son time to analyse what she did before she swept her wand and the pieces tucked themselves away. “It’s something that I, personally, have always wanted, something that isn’t very common and would have most confused or incredibly happy. Now, off to bed with you, it’s late and you need your concentration for tomorrow.”

* * *

Harry slowly opened his eyes, groaning as the sun pushed straight through the window and directly on his face. The first realization was that he wasn’t at the Dursley’s house or on the Muggle street, where his last memory was. He had soft, silky sheets pooled around his ankles and a rather large quilt pushed around his torso. It hardly took more than a guess to know where he was, and that place was none other than Malfoy Manor. The warmth and the comfort of the bed and sheets just wanted to make him close his eyes and go straight back to sleep, no matter the time.

He felt something move on the end of the bed, which could be only a select number of things. He quickly pulled himself up into a sitting position, leaving the quilt covering his legs he glanced at whatever was on the end of his bed. He hoped for a kitten. He shook his head the moment he saw Nagini, her head her on his leg. “ **Nagini, what are you doing here**?”

“ **Be quiet, youngling, I am trying to sleep**.”

Harry sat in silence for a small moment, his teeth pushing into his lip as he debated on how she got here, as he had no memory of it. “ **But** –”

“ **Quiet**!” hissed Nagini, her agitation very clear in that simple word. She shifted around on the warm bed for a moment before she found a new comfortable spot. “ **Go and play with your blond boy and let me sleep**.”

Harry muttered under his breath about how Nagini referred to Draco as his blond boy and how that was incorrect and as he climbed from the bed rude snakes that had next to manners at all. He tucked the sheets back up, making it look as if the bed wasn’t slept in, which he had done very carefully so he didn’t agitate the already agitated snake further.

He made his way from the room, still in his pyjamas, and down the lengthy hallway of Malfoy Manor. He poked his head into each room that the family often used and wondered what room they would be in today, he had bets on the drawing room, and as such, it’d be the last room that he would check. He walked down the hallway, making sure his steps were softly so he didn’t slip and go flying due to his socks.

He peered into the final room, the drawing room, and smirked when he saw the entire Malfoy family, except for Abraxas, sitting in perfect silence.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Lucius, peering over a copy of the Daily Prophet, the article that was on the front page covered by his elegant fingers. “Ah, it’s a quarter to eight.”

Harry was confused, especially by the groan of Draco.

“You owe me three Galleons, Draco,” said Lucius, smirking. “I told you he’d be awake before eight.”

“When did you want it, father?”

“I believe the best time would be as soon as I return home,” said Lucius, tucking the paper under his arm. “I must get to the Ministry as I have a very important meeting with the Minister in fifteen minutes.”

“This early?” asked Narcissa, smiling as her husband kissed her cheek. “I guess it’s for the best. Make sure you’re home early tonight, we haven’t had a family dinner in a while.”

“I’ll try,” said Lucius, straightening up. “I need to ask a favour though. If you could go to Diagon Alley today and get me a new pair of Governors robes, I would appreciate that. Take the boys with you, they need to get out and get some sun, they’re both so pale.”

Harry sat down on an armchair near Draco with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. He was wondering how often they made bets on him and his sleeping habits, wondering how late he would sleep each day was rather odd and three Galleons was a rather large amount, not for the Malfoy family, but other families. He was sure the Weasleys would cave at sigh a high amount of a simple wager. He had seen Lucius, Narcissa and Draco constantly handing over small amounts of Galleons, almost daily.

“I hope you slept well, Harry,” said Narcissa softly, her question unknowingly snapping the boy from his suspicious thoughts about the shady exchange of money he just saw. “You gave us all quite a fright.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Thank you for collecting me though,” said Harry with a wide smile, his eyes filling with happiness. Deep-down he did wonder why it wasn’t his mother or father who came to his aid and help him, instead it was Lucius and Narcissa that helped him and it did hurt a little bit. “And I slept well, thank you for asking.”

“I do hate to be so blunt with you, Harry, but would you mind sharing on what actually happened? We weren’t exactly told nor did we actually see anything that happened.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly before he realised that it wasn’t the Malfoys that collected him either. “Who found me?”

“Mopsy did,” said Narcissa. “She also collected your trunk and all your items and left a note with your relatives saying that we came and collected you after they went to bed.”

“I offered to cook for my relatives – don’t laugh, Draco – and when it came down to the actual cooking, I realised that I had no idea how to actually cook and thus I was mentioning that Mopsy would be able to do it, as if she sensed my distress she came and cooked for me. I’m sure she noticed me put something on the food as she had her hand son her hips when she vanished, but aside from that she did nothing else.”

“What’d you do?” said Draco, leaning forwards in excitement.

“If you would remain silent, you would hear it,” said Harry. “I gave them their meals, which was coated in a potion, and left –”

“You fed them a potion?”

Harry wouldn’t get mad at Narcissa for interrupting, after all, it was Narcissa. He continued to explain what happened, in varying detail, excluding that the potion was his own creation and what it would do, but he gave them the general gist of it. He got to the point of where he was explaining how some shady looking Muggle male was following him and Narcissa gasped. He described the man and his almost broken sounding voice and how he was threatened by said Muggle with what appeared to be a rather blunt looking knife.

Being one hundred honest, he wasn’t sure of how the actual event unfolded either.

“If what I recall right, Mopsy didn’t say that the man was dead, just unconscious, I’m sure he’ll wake up and just be confused,” said Narcissa, looking out the far window in the room. “I’m just glad you’re alright and nothing bad happened to you.”

“You missed your birthday, too!” said Draco. “So… happy birthday!”

“Thank you, Draco, if not for your ability to inform me that my own birthday passed without my notice, I would have forgotten it.”

Draco snorted and sent a glare towards his friend. “Just like you forgot my birthday, not just once, but twice!”

“I clearly didn’t forget,” said Harry, his hands held up slightly. “The time just simply crept up on me and before I knew it, your birthday had come and gone. Just like that.”

“Can you two stop bickering? It’s far too early for this,” said Narcissa, holding her temple slightly. “If I remember right, Draco, you used to think that Harry’s birthday was on the second of November and you would cry and moan that he was born at a stupid time and wouldn’t be able to attend Hogwarts with you.”

Harry smirked and frowned when Narcissa turned towards him.

“And you,” said Narcissa, pointing a finger towards him. “Your excuse was that Draco already had everything and that he was far too hard to shop for.”

Harry decided that it was best to send the woman a sheepish expression and try and use his natural cuteness to get out of this impending argument about things. Of course, that alone wouldn’t work, he’d have to do something else. “I’m bad with dates,” he said far too quickly. “I tend to forget them rather easily.”

“Bad with dates,” repeated Narcissa in the same tone that it was said in. “You do realize how ludicrous that is?”

Harry sat silently.

“Let’s see,” said Narcissa, beginning to count from her fingers. “You remember the date that a new book will come out, even if it’s months in advance. You remembered the days that you would be able to come here, like just before, even if they were months in advance. You remember the exact date that you found your pet snake, Nagini. You remember the exact amount of pages in a book, go on, how many pages in the most recent book you read?”

“Six thousand four hundred and fifty-two.”

“You’re good with numbers, and that’s exactly why your excuse has no merit. _I’m bad with dates_.” Said Narcissa, a mocking tone of voice. She turned towards her now snickering son with a scowl on her face.

“Mother, please!” said Draco the moment he felt her gaze on him. He didn’t want to be on the wrong end of his mother’s wrath this early in the morning. “You’ve made your point, we won’t bicker!”

Narcissa leant back in her chair, her facial expression one of victory. “We will be going to Diagon Alley at around eleven, I think, that way we can enjoy a brief lunch while we’re there. I assume you two will behave?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Yes, Narcissa.”

“Excellent,” said Narcissa, a devious smile hitting her lips. “We have a few hours before eleven, three and a half, to be exact. How about a quick chess game, Harry?”

Harry gave her a very curious look, one that was lined with suspicion, especially after seeing that shady bet earlier on. “I dare assume that the match will be between us?”

“Not at all, Harry,” said Narcissa, leaning forwards, her gaze twisting towards her son, who sat in the armchair with a book covering his face. “You’ll be playing against Draco, of course. He was in here last night proclaiming that he could finally beat you, claiming he had learned something that would assist him in winning.”

“Really?” said Harry, turning his head towards Draco. “A newfound talent, I see.”

“The loser of the match will take this potion,” said Narcissa, holding the potion up. “I’m not saying what this potion does until it has been drunken.”

“It’s a safe and tested potion, right?”

“Yes, Harry,” said Narcissa, putting it down. “I’d never put you or my son in any kind of danger. I have used the potion before, as has Lucius.”

“I somehow don’t believe that,” said Harry, eyeing the potion. “After the exchange of Galleons I saw this morning, I am rather concerned about what that phial of potion is.”

“It’s harmless.”

“I see,” said Harry. “I am confident in my abilities at chess that it won’t be me drinking said potion, it’ll be Draco.”

* * *

“No!” breathed Harry, pushing back slightly from the table, his chair moving silently as he did so. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

Draco sat in his chair with a smug expression on his face, his hand over over Harry’s queen. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

“Nothing is wrong,” snapped Harry as he rubbed the side of his face with his hands, debating on what he would do next. Losing his queen was a big loss, but it was nothing that he couldn’t come back from. As long as the king was safe, it was fine. Granted he had taken Draco’s queen ages ago and the boy had still recouped from that. “I’m not sure why you’re so smug, Draco, the queen is just a means to an end.”

“And yours is gone.”

“You’re quite obviously cheating,” said Harry, glancing at the board. It wasn’t possible that he was losing this badly. “Even if I was off my game today, I shouldn’t be making as many mistakes as I am.”

Draco stayed silent, not wanting to look at his mother to get that question out of her head. It was curious though, as Harry hadn’t met his gaze not even once during the once, his eyes locked firmly on the board from the moment the first move failed.

“No worry, no worry,” said Harry, shifting his pawn into a new position, one that should work. There was nothing that could take it. “Merlin!”

“Check,” said Draco, glancing at the board.

Harry broke the check with gritted teeth instead of using a pawn, he used his knight. “Are you serious?” he practically yelled, startling Draco. “This chessboard has a Confundus Charm on it!”

“I can assure you, Harry, it doesn’t,” said Narcissa, sipping her tea. “That chessboard has been with the Malfoy family for generations, no one would dare place a charm on it.”

Harry didn’t believe her.

“Checkmate,” said Draco with his expression grew even smugger, if that was even possible. “Well played, Harry.”

“Shut up,” said Harry, glaring at the board. “I lost, so I’ll honour the bet, but the board has a Confundus Charm on it, an old one.”

“Does it?”

“Yes,” said Harry, his whole demeanour changed. “I noticed it at the start, with the very first move that I made as I knew what move I was going to do prior to start the match.”

“And?”

“And for some odd reason my subconscious told me it was a terrible idea, despite the fact I would have gotten your rook and then two moves later your knight without any hassle.”

Draco turned to his mother, a confused expression.

“Did you really think I could make such amateur mistakes, Draco?” said Harry, speaking before Narcissa could. “I have read up on the Malfoy family history. The charm wouldn’t be in place until there was a bet set and then it’d go in favour of the Malfoy, only slightly. The only issue is that I’m a natural Occlumens, so it laid it on thick to bypass that and it did it far strongly, thus making the match one-sided and obvious.”

“Oh,” said Narcissa, still smiling. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Honestly? I wanted to see if either of you would give yourselves away or if it’d continue.”

“I was decent,” said Draco, grinning. “You would have never known if you weren’t a natural Occlumens.”

“The smug expression on your face was enough to tell me that you had something planned.”

“Well, Harry, drink up.”

Harry glared at Draco and reached for the phial of potion, closely inspecting it. “This is a unique potion, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Just drink it,” said Draco, packing away the chessboard. “I want to see what it does. Mother looks way too excited over there, it must be good.”

Harry ignored Draco and slowly moved the potion towards his nose and sniffed it, a natural reaction from someone who made potions. He pulled his head back and downed the potion, swallowing it instantly. He ran his tongue around his mouth, trying to figure out what it tasted like. It tasted odd, like a hint of strawberries and then something else that he couldn’t quite place, it was like grass. He instantly felt the effects of the potion take over, his fingers morphed into slender fingers that somewhat resembled Draco’s, just a little longer.

“Oh my!” said Narcissa. “Look at you!”

“Look at me?” repeated Harry, confused.

Narcissa quickly conjured a mirror and handed it to Harry. “Look at yourself.”

Harry took the small mirror and twirled it in his hands, not looking into the reflective glass. He felt odd, that was the best way to describe how he currently felt, his mind and body. In some sense, he felt lighter, a little bitter taller and his skin felt as if it had never once been in contact with anything bad. He slowly lifted the mirror to his face, the moment his eyes met the mirror he instantly realized they weren’t his eyes and that wasn’t his hair. He sniffed and ignored Draco snickering behind him as he spun on the spot to face Narcissa. “Is this permanent?”

“It lasts around five or six hours,” said Narcissa, running her hands through Harry’s long blonde hair. “Depends on how powerful the witch or wizard is, who knows, it could last days if fed to a really powerful witch or wizard.”

“That isn’t possible,” said Harry haughtily. “I have studied Polyjuice Potion immensely and it’s not possible to make it last longer than an hour. Merlin himself could have drank it and it’d still last an hour.”

“Of course,” said Narcissa, holding the empty phial up. “This isn’t Polyjuice Potion though.”

“It felt like it.”

“You know, Harry, I have always wanted a daughter,” said Narcissa ignoring the questions about the potions. “I could only put Draco in dresses until he was about three, that’s when he started to realize that boys don’t wear dresses.”

“You put me in dresses?” squeaked out Draco, his face flushed. “I cannot believe you!”

“Lucius didn’t agree with me making his heir look like a little girl and he quickly made me stop it, but while he was at work, Draco was mine to dress up.”

“Mother!”

“However, now I have a teenage girl to dress up in little dresses and spoil as if she’s a princess, isn’t that right, Harry?”

“You’re not convincing me that this whole bet thing wasn’t planned in advance,” said harry, scowling. “I guess I can put up with it, on a few conditions.”

“And what are they?”

“No one is to ever know,” said Harry, a hint of determination in his voice. “No pictures, no pensieve memories nothing that can incriminate me in the future about being a girl.”

“No pictures,” agreed Narcissa, smiling as brightly as she possibly could. “You’re far too serious for a twelve year old. However, you’re coming to Diagon Alley with us today. Oh, you’re lucky that I kept all of Draco’s old dresses and his little hair ribbons.”

Harry sent Draco a scathing look, one that promised a certain degree of pain and turned and smiled sweetly at Narcissa. “Surely you would have ribbons in my hair, they’re highly outdated. We cannot disgrace my beautiful hair by putting such out of date things in my hair.”

Narcissa gave Harry a look, that same look that made people give her a wide birth when she was annoyed. “Now you listen here, I wear ribbons at social events, in my hair. Of course, it is Black tradition. So, they are not outdated and your fabulous hair would suit ribbons nicely.”

Harry flipped his hair over his back and frown. “I have no idea how girls put up with long hair, it gets in the way,” he pulled out his wand from his pyjama bottoms, which he was holding up with his left hand. “Perhaps a quick charm will fix this messy hair.”

“I can assure you. Harry, that it won’t,” said Narcissa, a smirk on her face. “While that little charm you do to tame Potter hair and make it look presentable is impressive on its own, it has been attuned to Potter hair, not Malfoy hair.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, twirling a strand of his hair before he realised what he was doing and abruptly stopped it. “Surely hair doesn’t have traits and such, it seems so farfetched.”

“You’re not a Potter anymore, the potion made you a Malfoy and gave you Malfoy traits.”

“Now I am confused.”

Narcissa held out her hand and gestured towards the door, smiling as the two boys – or boy and girl – got up and followed her. “I’ll show you the Malfoy family tree,” she said, leading them towards the room with double doors. “See here, that’s you.”

“I’m Draco’s half-brother?” asked Harry with disbelief. “That shouldn’t even be possible, it’s not possible to fool a tapestry.”

“A Malfoy created potion can deceive the tapestry,” said Narcissa. “You’ll need to ask Lucius for more information regarding the potion and its history, but you’ll find it enlightening.”

“Interesting.”

“Technically it added you to the Malfoy family, as I said before,” said Narcissa, her index finger hovering over Harry on the tapestry. “You have the perfect alabaster skin that most Malfoy men have, the silver eyes, the regent cheekbones, everything.”

“But I’m a female, at least according to this.”

“There hasn’t been a female born Malfoy in centuries, the last female Malfoy looked exactly like her brother, except more feminine.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Once again, you’ll have to ask Lucius about it,” said Narcissa. “With that said, you’ll remain on the tapestry until the potion expires and then you’ll be removed. I wouldn’t try opening the Malfoy vault in Gringotts, it may open, but it would suck you into an empty chamber of the vault if you tried.”

“You’re a girl,” said Draco in a lazy tone of voice. “So really, you’re my half-sister.”

“Be quiet!”

“Come on, Harry – oh – its Selene now – you must embrace this opportunity.”

“I’m named after the moon? How lovely,” mumbled Harry, glancing at the tapestry, noticing the name. “Did the potion give me a name?”

“Lucius and I chose the name for you before we gave you the potion, or rather we planned out the name for the loser,” said Narcissa, smiling. “Hush now, Selene, come with me and I’ll make you pretty before we go to Diagon Alley and stop gripping your pants, it’s unladylike.”

Harry said nothing but followed behind, holding his pants up as he did so. His body was larger than he was before the change and the pants should have been tighter, not looser. “People will recognise me, just by my voice. People will know it’s me.”

“You sound like a girl, Harry,” said Draco, grinning. “The only reason we know that you’re Harry is because we saw the change happen.”

* * *

Selene stepped through the fireplace, after stating her destination, and allowed the green flames to take her and move her towards the Leaky Cauldron, where she stepped out without an issue in the world. She waited for Draco to come through and let her grey eyes scan the room, which had become quiet the moment she had entered, not that she was bragging or anything. Almost every single eye was on her. It was hard enough being a boy in a girl’s body, except that the body wasn’t the same age as he was before, it honestly made him a teenager, not thirteen, but fifteen, almost sixteen.

“About time, Draco,” she said, slapping his arm hardly, not that the boy cared. “I cannot believe you made me go through first!”

“Because I am a gentleman, Selene – don’t snort – and I stand by the age-old phrase that ladies go first,” said Draco, his chin lifted. “Regardless, it’s good practice for you.”

Selene leaned in, a mere two inches away from Draco’s ear. “Good practice? This is the only time I’ll ever being doing this, and unlike you, it’s my first time in a dress!” She leaned back and wiped imaginary dust from her top as she stepped closer to Draco. “Why are people staring at me?”

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s antics, of course he couldn’t call his best friend Selene in his head as it’d be odd and weird. It was very odd seeing one of his best friends be replaced by a very Malfoy looking girl. “Be quiet, Selene,” he hissed. “If you tell anyone about that, anyone at all, you’ll regret it.”

“What exactly will you do to make me regret it, Draco dear?”

“Shut up!” hissed Draco. “You can be such a – mother, finally.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s antics, of course, he couldn’t say Selene in his head about his friend, and it was very odd seeing the boy he has known almost his entire life be replaced by a very Malfoy looking female. “Be quiet, Selene.” He hissed. “If you tell anyone about that, I will make you regret it – mother, finally.”

“Don’t be impatient, Draco,” said Narcissa, dusting off the soot from her robes. She eyed both her son and her step-daughter? No, it was Harry and Harry was still a boy, despite his outward appearance. “We could have got your books for this upcoming school year today. It would be just our luck that we would buy the books and they would be the incorrect books.”

Selene nodded her head as they walked down the street of Diagon Alley. Her eyes instantly went towards her nails, which had been covered in nail-polish of some sort and were much longer than they were before the potion. Instantly annoyed by having long nails, she attempted to break them on the hem of her dress, which earned her a glare from Narcissa.

“You have lovely hair.”

Selene turned towards the voice and smiled at the girl who was just behind them.

“I’m Luna, Luna Lovegood.”

“Good afternoon, Miss. Lovegood,” said Narcissa politely. “It’s a pleasant day.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said Selene, unsure of how to address such compliments. “You have nice hair as well.”

Draco snorted and looked away before leaning in closely. “The Lovegood family is claimed to be an extension of the Malfoy line, which is absurd. It was rumoured that my father and her father were brothers and that her father was disowned and started his own family, taking his wife’s name. Our families do share a lot of traits though, but it’s just coincidence, such as the blond hair, pale complexion and, of course, the blond hair.”

“If you had never pointed that out, Draco, I never would have realised that,” said Selene bitterly, her tone snappish. “It was very pleasant to meet you, Miss. Lovegood, but we must be going, we have very much to do today and very little time to spend idly talking, no offence.”

“I hope to see you around,” said Luna in her usual tranquil voice.

Selene stood there and frowned when both Narcissa and Draco had a similar look on their faces. “How rude of me, I apologise Miss. Lovegood. My name is Selene Malfoy, I’m from France.”

“Farewell, Goddess of the moon,” replied Luna in a dreamy voice and began to skip towards another shop.

Selene sat there with an almost gaping mouth as she stared at the girl. “She was unique, if I must admit,” she said and began to plan a way to get back at both Draco and Narcissa for this torture. She didn’t like being a girl, she wanted to be a boy again.

“The Lovegoods always have been a little different to everyone else,” said Narcissa calmly. “Come now, you two, we have plenty of things to do today.”

“Salazar, is that? It is!” said Selene, a look of shock on her face. “Can I meet you both there? I have to talk to that man and this is such a perfect opportunity as he won’t recognise me and I can get things from him.”

Draco sighed and glared at his half-sister before cupping his face and glared. “Just don’t disgrace the Malfoy name by doing something that I wouldn’t do.”

“I fear I already have, as unlike you, I’m not stupid.”

Narcissa shook her head and watched as Harry essentially bounced towards the spot where the man was sitting. “Come on, Draco, perhaps we can get some of the more tedious things done.”

“Hello,” said Selene, sitting near the man. “I’m Selene Malfoy.”

“Are you now?” the man replied calmly. “I never thought I’d see a female Malfoy born in this lifetime.”

“You’re Nicolas Flamel, right?”

“I am, although not many would address me in such a way,” said Nicolas, flicking his wand and erecting a privacy ward. “You remind me of a certain black-haired boy, about this tall and he has bright green eyes.”

“I do? How odd,” said Selene, her tone calm. “I have a letter here from Harry Potter. I told him I was going to Diagon Alley today and he said if I spotted you, to hand it to you.”

“What a coincidence, Miss. Malfoy,” said Nicolas with a smirk. He stroked his beard slightly as he took the letter. “Not sealed, did you perhaps read it?”

“Of course I didn’t,” said Selene. “I would never do such a thing, it is not the Malfoy way.”

“Alas, it is the Malfoy way, but we all know you’re as much of a Malfoy as I am,” said Nicolas with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Now, tell Mr. Potter that I’ll be here every day, I love a good ice-cream, of course, I’m sure he already knows about this.”

Selene gave a curtsy, when she really wanted to nod, the potion forced her to curtsey, of all things. “Farewell, Mr. Flamel,” she muttered and quickly dashed away to find Narcissa and Draco.

* * *

Harry was glad when the potion actually wore off, of course he was left in his feminine clothing in the middle of Malfoy Manor with little ribbons in his hair that had shortened instantly. Of course his hair went to the style that it was previously, so his hair was a comb over with little ribbons. A flash of something startled him and he glanced at Narcissa, who held a magical camera. “You said no pictures!”

“When you were a girl, Harry,” said Narcissa, a smirk on her face. “We said nothing about after pictures.”

“If you force a snake into a corner, it will strike,” said harry with practised ease. “Remember, Draco, that I have befriended the badgers, a snake’s natural predator.”

“Oh, Harry, don’t be like that,” said Draco, making cooing noises at him, he flicked the ribbon in Harry’s hair. “You looked beautiful.”

Harry grit his teeth and glared at the blond-haired boy in front of him. “We may have been friends for almost eleven years, Draco, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t go easy on you when we return to Hogwarts.”

“What about mother? It was her idea!” said Draco instantly. “She even took the photo!”

“But, unlike you, Draco, Narcissa is a lady and is above such things as pranking, which is why I know she won’t show anyone those pictures,” said Harry with a silky tone of voice. “Plus, I may know a lot of theory on spells, but I have very limited practical knowledge. If I ever did something to offend Narcissa, Lucius would be on my case faster than usual, and I for one, do not want to be on the end of his wand.”

Narcissa sent Harry a sweet smile. “Of course, smart boy,” she praised while picking invisible lint from her long, elegant dress. “We have taught you well, Harry. Always target the weaker ones.”

“Hey!” said Draco loudly, glaring at Harry and his mother. “I’m not weak.”

“Compared to Narcissa and Lucius, you are,” stated Harry with a lift of his chin. “Of course, you’re far from weak in our year level, but compared to your parents, you look like a slug.”

“A SLUG?” repeated Draco loudly, highly offended. “Really, Harry? That’s revolting.”

“That’s what I’ll turn you into if you mention this to anyone.”

“Fine –”

“Of course, I have yet to practice said spell, and it is a bit beyond my skill level, but practical testing is always a good idea, isn’t it?”

Narcissa caught on and smiled sweetly. “I may be of assistance, there is a tome in the library, hidden from view, which has a similar spell in it,” she said and noted the horrified look on her son’s face. “Come, Harry, I shall show you.”

They barely made it out of the door before they burst into laughter. Harry clenched onto the doorframe and wiped a stray tear from his eyes as he laughed earnestly at the image of a slug Draco. “Where’s Dobby? Shouldn’t he be around here somewhere? Normally he greets us whenever we return.”


	7. All Actions Have Consequences

Chapter 7 – **All Actions Have Consequences**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 17/April/2016_

* * *

Harry sat in the singular armchair in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, a rather thick tome open on his lap, his eyes skimming the pages for knowledge at a rapid rate. Off to his left, in his peripheral vision, he saw Draco pretending to read a book as he glared hatefully at the far wall. He knew better though, his friend had been in a snit for the past two days, especially when he was mocked that Gilderoy Lockhart would be teaching at Hogwarts this year, seeing as Professor Quirrell had left due to ‘personal reasons’, not that anyone with half a brain believed that.

Unless your name was Draco Malfoy and you were gullible.

The room remained quiet, as it did on such mornings where the entire household was busy reading and not talking to each other as no one had any social tendencies at all. Like most days, the quiet of the drawing room in Malfoy Manor lasted until Abraxas Malfoy limped in, his eyes narrowed onto the slouching boys and his cane hitting hardly against the doorframe. He muttered his usual complaints of his son not fulfilling the Malfoy goal, which was to earn money or influence, no matter the day.

A rather ordinary looking owl flew through the open window and dropped a later on Draco and one on Harry before hotting and flying out of the room before anyone could so much as blink.

“That must be your letters from Hogwarts, informing you of what books you’ll require this year,” said Lucius a she folded up the Daily Prophet he was reading and handed it to his father, despite the fact he wasn’t finished. “Get dressed and I’ll come to Diagon Alley with you. I have business to attend to in Borgin and Burkes.”

“Back in my day, the heir to the Most Noble House of Malfoy would never act like this, not even dressed at ten in the morning. Disgraceful.”

Narcissa couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Abraxas and his hypocrisy, seeing as the man slept in longer than both Harry and Draco combined. She mouthed one word to her husband and that reflected how she felt easily. “I have been invited to have tea with Pandorea Parkinson, that’s Pansy’s mother.”

Harry hadn’t known that Pansy’s mother was called Pandorea, all that he knew was that the Parkinson family tended to name all their children with the letter ‘P’, making their initials ‘PP’, which made him snicker. He did know that Pansy’s brother was called Patrick and he was attending Hogwarts next year.

“– if I finish early, I’ll meet you boys in Diagon Alley.”

“yes dear,” said Lucius, eyeing his father carefully, making sure the man was actually somewhat sated that things were being done and he wouldn’t take it out on Draco or Harry. “Read your letters and then we’ll leave.”

Narcissa swiped the letter from Hogwarts from her son’s hand and opened it.

 **Second-year students will require** :

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk_

_Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart_

_Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart_

_Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart_

_Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart_

_Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart_

_Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart_

_Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart_

“Well, it certainly does look like your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor must be a fan of Gilderoy Lockhart,” said Narcissa, handing the list back to her son so he could read it. “You know, Harry, he or she may be a bigger fan than you are.”

“Isn’t Gilderoy Lockhart teaching this year?”

Harry scoffed and placed his letter, neatly folded, in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms. “You do know that I could care less about him and his overly flamboyant persona, I simply care about all the things he has rumoured to have done. I haven’t yet read his books, they’re rather new.”

“Isn’t Gilderoy Lockhart teaching this year?” asked Draco again, not liking being ignored.

“Don’t repeat yourself, Draco,” said Harry as he walked towards the door. “I am going to get dressed for the day and then while we’re at Diagon Alley, I’ll be stopping into Flourish and Blotts to hopefully pick up a new Charms book, and maybe a fourth-year Defence Against the Dark Arts book.”

“Maybe one day we’ll be able to go into Diagon Alley without getting dragged into Flourish and Blotts to buy books for Harry.”

Harry paused at the door, ignoring Draco. “Oh, Lucius, do you happen to have any books on mind magic in your privet study?”

“I may, I’ll need to search thoroughly. What do you need the book for?”

“You see, I want to completely forget something, something rather disturbing you see. I did debate locking it behind an Occlumency wall, but I’m not sure how to do it, as much as admitting that pains me.”

“I’ll check my study while you two are getting dressed into robes,” said Lucius before a stern expression crossed his face. “Don’t dawdle, I want to be out of here as quickly as possible.”

Draco walked alongside Harry in silence until they were out of earshot range. “What do you need such a book for, Harry? Not planning to put your crush on Gilderoy behind Occlumency walls?”

“I do not have a crush on Gilderoy Lockhart!”

“Sure.”

“I don’t!” said Harry loudly, his eyes narrowing. “I just admire the man’s talents!”

A rather large, bronze framed portrait scoffed as the two boys bickered.

“And what are you scoffing at?” snapped Harry, glaring at the man in the portrait.

“It’s only wise to hold the upmost admiration for that that truly deserve it,” said the portrait, toasting the boy with a smirk. “This Gilderoy fellows appears to be nothing but a simple-minded dolt who’s only known accomplishment is the fact that he can afford to pay someone to fix his teeth and give him a ‘charming’ smile, if that’s even possible.”

“Outward appearances can be misleading.”

“That they can,” said the man in the portrait.

“His flamboyancy could just be a mask or a façade that we’ve all fallen for,” said Harry. “He has hundreds of adoring fans, women ready to jump at his feet and marry him.”

“Could be,” agreed the portrait, still smirking. “Now, let me explain why I called you over here.”

Harry wanted to argue that the portrait had scoffed while eavesdropping and not called them over, but he remained silent and decided to just listen to what it had to say.

“You’re in Malfoy Manor, lad, the same manor that has more history than most pure-blood lines,” said the portrait. “You would be rather surprised to know that this very manor used to be a two bedroom wooden house that was almost falling apart. Each generation added something to the manor, whether it was new rooms or secret areas. You could lean on a door frame and trigger a secret door that would lead you to lost magic or rare tomes.”

Harry already knew a vast majority of this, as he himself had stumbled across four secret rooms in his time in the house. Two were just secret areas that had dark artefacts hidden in them and one held a lot of notes, some which could put the Malfoy family in a bad light. The final room had been opened when he hissed in Parseltongue and a wall slid open, revealing a rather stone like room which held nothing but a small table and a single chair. The notes explained that they had hoped to integrate Parseltongue into the Malfoy family and that future heirs would be able to hide in the room if any enemies came, but the experiment failed.

“– I personally hid a room, unlike my father, who added a useless wing which was apparently torn down six decades later. I was rather studious and I wanted to keep all my rare tomes I accumulated in my one hundred and thirty-seven years alive hidden.”

“You lived a long time.”

“I most certainly did,” said the portrait. “Seems uncommon for wizards to live beyond eighty now…”

Harry allowed the man in the portrait to have his breakdown about the decline of wizarding lifespans, claiming that wizards were now living as long as Muggles and something had clearly gone wrong in the time since his death. It was fascinating to learn that some wizards lived a natural lifespan of over three hundred years, no artefacts like the Philosopher’s Stone to make them live longer.

He bid farewell to the portrait of the man, who kept dropping subtle hints about his hidden room and where to look for it, which were false clues as the areas that he was being told to look no longer existed or the entire wing of the building was hidden, but that would cause some issues when trying to expand outwards in that direction.

“Don’t take too long,” said Draco, splitting off from Harry. “Father will be very displeased if we keep him waiting.”

Harry rolled his eyes and twisted around into his door, gently shutting it a she stepped into his room. He picked up his clothes, which were neatly folded on the foot of his bed, and quickly got ready for the day, not wanting Draco to complain any more than he already has. He pulled up his knees and twisted his foot, allowing him to easily slip on the tight shoes that were most likely only just the correct size. He did debate about stomping his feet in order to get the heel of his foot in, but decided against it.

“You’re still not ready?”

“I am ready, I have been for about three minutes.”

“Right,” scoffed Draco.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” said Harry. “I’m just putting on shoes and then I’ll be finished.”

“Did you know that most wizards don’t wear shoes?”

“I did know that,” said Harry as he stood up. “I know that some people dislike shoes, but it’s ridiculous to never wear them at all.”

The conversation continued as the two boys walked from Harry’s bedroom and towards the entrance hall, where they would most likely Floo out with Lucius towards Diagon Alley.

* * *

Harry and Draco followed Lucius into a dingy shop that held an almost broken sign reading: Borgin and Burkes. The moment the door to the shop opened, a soft ringing bell sounded and a scuffling sound was heard from somewhere out the back of the shop. Harry glanced around the shop, looking at the various items, with disdain, his nose slightly turned up when he saw dust lined over a shelf.

“Touch nothing boys.”

Draco nodded to the warning and observed a glass eye that was sitting on a shelf. “I thought you said you were going to buy me a present,” he said, ignoring the snot that came from Harry.

“I said, Draco, that I would buy you a new broom,” said Lucius, drumming his fingers on the counter. “That is, of course, assuming you behave.”

“What’s the point in that?” said Draco, yanking his hand away from the glass eye. “I’m not even on the house team. You know, Longbottom got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous… famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead.”

Harry sighed and leaned in close to the glass eye that Draco was just looking at.

“Everyone thinks Longbottom is so smart, wonderful Longbottom with his stupid broom and his stupid scar –”

“Oh, Draco, I forgot,” said Harry, interrupting Draco’s rant. He leaned in close towards a pile of skulls that looked as if they were a decoration. “You can have my position of Seeker on the Slytherin team this year. It was going to be a surprise, but your whining ruined that.”

“I wasn’t whining.”

“You were,” said Harry, smirking. “Just know that Longbottom is far from special, he’s worthless.”

Lucius, who was still drumming his fingers on the slightly dusty counter, muttered his agreement. “I should remind the both of you that it is not prudent to appear less than fond of Neville Longbottom, especially when most of our kind regard him as the hero which made the Dark Lord disappear.”

Harry muttered under his breath and ignored the look that Lucius gave him.

“Mr. Borgin,” said Lucius the moment the door from the back of the shop opened.

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face. “Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,” he said in a voice just as oily as his hair. “Delighted – and young Master Malfoy too – charmed.” His eyes found the black-haired boy off to the side. “Is that – oh it cannot be – Mr. Malfoy, you bought the Head Aurors son into my shop?”

“I wouldn’t call this a shop,” said Harry, looking at a large glass cylinder. “This place makes the Leaky Cauldron look like a five star resort.”

Mr. Borgin sent the black-haired boy a curious look and watched as the boy vanished from sight behind a black cupboard, studying it intently. “How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced –”

“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling,” interrupted Lucius smoothly.

The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin’s face. “Selling?”

“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,” said Lucius silkily, he took out a roll of parchment from the inside pocket of his robe, he unravelled it and placed it on the counter, sliding it in front of Mr. Borgin. “I have a few – ah – items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call.”

Mr. Borgin fixed a pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list. “The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, sir, surely?”

Lucius’ upper lip curled, he glanced around for Harry and Draco before pinning Mr. Borgin with an intense look. “I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle Protection Act – no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear –”

“I understand, sir, of course,” interrupted Mr. Borgin, unaware that he was being glared at. “Now, just let me see…”

“Can I have that?” asked Draco while Mr. Borgin looked at the list, he pointed at the withered hand on a dusty cushion.

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Lucius’ list and scurrying over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.”

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin.”

Mr. Borgin shook his head slightly, shifting away from Draco. “No offence meant, sir, no offence meant –”

Lucius gave the man a cold smirk. “All though, if his school marks don’t pick up this year, that may be all he’s fit for.”

“It’s not my fault,” said Draco instantly, defending himself. He glanced around for Harry but didn’t see him anywhere. “All the professors have favourites and that Granger –”

“I don’t mind if Harry beats you in marks, Draco,” said Lucius, pining his son with a look. “Harry pretty much lives in the library while you’re out making connections, your marks are bound to take a small dent, but being beaten in every class by a girl with no wizarding blood in her family is nothing short of disgraceful, Draco.”

“It’s the same all over,” said Mr. Borgin, in an oily tone of voice. “Wizard blood is counting for less and less everywhere.”

“Not with me,” said Lucius, glaring at Mr. Borgin with a high amount of disdain. He followed Mr. Borgin’s eyes towards Harry, who was still examining the large black cupboard that he was looking at before.

Mr. Borgin’s eyes snapped from the black-haired boy and back to Lucius. “No, sir, nor with me, sir.”

“In that case, perhaps we should return to my list,” demanded Lucius. He wasn’t going to waste any more time in this store than he had to. “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today.”

Harry listened to Borgin and Lucius haggle about prices, the former not getting anywhere at all for the artefacts that Lucius held in that little black box. It was pointless to try and compete against Lucius in the business end of deals, the man was cutthroat when he needed to be and always pressured you in the way to make you lose your footing and agree to a much higher price.

He heard something from inside the black cabinet and he grasped the golden door handle and gentle tugged it open. He only just avoided the cane as it swung by his head and closed the black cabinet.

“Don’t touch, Harry,” said Lucius, tucking his cane back under his arm.

Harry glared at Draco who was snickering from the corner near a magnificent necklace of opals: _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed – Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date._ He rolled his eyes and stood next to the counter eyeing Borgin carefully. The man was awfully shifty since Lucius turned his back and seemed to be eyeing Draco like he was the saviour to all his problems.

He watched as Lucius spun around to scold Draco for touching something else, getting his hand stuck in the object for doing so. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Borgin swiping a single Galleon from the top of the pile of Galleons on the counter. He flicked his wand from his under his left forearm and pointed it at Mr. Borgin.

“Harry?” said Draco, his voice slightly higher than usual when he noticed that Harry had drawn his wand. “What are you doing?”

“Put it back!” hissed harry, his tone icy. “Don’t make me tell you again, Mr. Borgin.”

Mr. Borgin raised his hands in surrender, the Galleon still in his sweaty hands, and placed the Galleon back on the pile with a sheepish look. “Sorry, sir, so sorry, sir.”

Lucius swiped the pile of Galleons from the counter and counted them quickly before pinning Borgin with a look. “Good day to you, Mr. Borgin, I’ll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the rest of the items.” He gestured towards Harry and Draco towards the door.

The door of the shop swung closed, the moment it did Mr. Borgin dropped his oily façade and let out a sigh. “Filthy half-blood child,” he muttered under his breath and returned to the counter, unaware of the door on the black cabinet creaking open slightly. “Good day yourself, _Mister_ Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven’t sold me half of what’s hidden in your manor!” he ranted and walked back towards the door in the back of the shop.

* * *

Neville waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases and out of the shop door. He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he’d just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads, and two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Neville set off, hoping against hope he’d be able to find a way out of there.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn’t help, as Neville had never set foot in such a place. He supposed he hadn’t spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes back in the Weasleys’ fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.

“Not lost are you, my dear?” a witch muttered, close to the boy’s ear, which made the said boy jump.

Neville looked at the aged witch that stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. He backed away. “I’m fine, thanks… I’m just –”

“NEVILLE! What d’yeh think yer doin’ down there?”

Neville’s heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding towards them, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard. “Hagrid!” Neville cried in relief. “I was lost… Floo powder…”

Hagrid seized Neville by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Neville saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance: Gringotts bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon Alley.

“Yer a mess, Neville!” said Hagrid roughly, he brushed soot off Neville so forcefully that it almost sent the boy flying into a nearby barrel just outside an apothecary. “Skulkin’ around Knockturn Alley, I dunno – dodgy place, Neville – don’ want no one ter see yeh down there!”

“I did realise that,” muttered Neville, just managing to duck as Hagrid’s rather large hand swooped down on him to brush away more soot. “I told you, I was lost – what were you doing down there, anyway?”

“I was lookin’ fer a Flesh-Eatin’ Slug Repellent,” growled, giving up on trying to brush soot of Neville for now. “They’re ruinin’ the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?”

“I’m staying with the Weasleys but we got separated,” explained Neville. “I’ve got to go and find them…”

They set off together down the street. “How come yeh never wrote back ter me?” questioned Hagrid, unaware that Neville had to jog just to keep up with his walking speed. He listened as Neville explained the curious house-elf named Dobby and then what happened to his grandma, which caused him to go and stay with the Weasleys. “She’s alright, right, Neville?”

“Neville! Neville! Over here!”

Neville glanced up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

“Hello, Hagrid… oh, it’s wonderful to see you two again… are you coming into Gringotts, Neville?” said Hermione, glancing between the both of them.

“As soon as I’ve found the Weasleys.”

“Yeh won’t have long ter wait,” said Hagrid, giving Neville a soft slap on the back.

Neville and Hermione looked around; sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy and Mr. Weasley.

“Neville!” panted Mr. Weasley. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far,” he mopped his glistening bald patch. “Molly’s frantic – she’s coming now.”

“Where did you come out?” asked Ron, he had been holding that question in since he saw Neville.

“Knockturn Alley!” said Hagrid.

“Brilliant!” said Fred and George together, hi-fiving at the same time.

“We’ve never been allowed in,” muttered Ron enviously.

“I should ruddy well think not!”

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other. “Oh, Neville – oh, my dear – you could have been anywhere –” gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn’t managed to beat away.

“Well, gotta be off,” said Hagrid rather awkwardly, his large frame towering over everyone.

Mrs. Weasley wrung Hagrid’s hand. “Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!”

“See yer at Hogwarts!” said Hagrid, finally managing to free himself from Mrs. Weasley, and he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

“You’ll never guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes,” said Neville as he climbed up the steps with Hermione and Ron on either side of him.

“Who did you see?” asked Hermione.

“Malfoy and his father,” said Neville. “Oh, and Harry was there, looking around.”

“Potter was there?” said Ron, looking rather disgusted. “Probably buying new Dark Magic books for this year.”

“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” asked Mr. Weasley sharply from just behind the three of them. “And Harry as in James Potter’s son? Harry Potter?”

“No, no, he was selling, I think,” said Neville nervously, wondering if he’d get them in trouble. “And yes, Harry as in Harry Potter. He wasn’t doing anything besides walking around and looking at things. Although, I don’t think the shop owner liked Harry very much.”

Mr. Weasley paled slightly. “What is Harry doing? Walking around in Knockturn Alley when he’s the son of the head Auror, he’s rather well-known and would be instantly targeted by any of the people down there,” he continued with that train of thought for a while before turning towards Neville. “As for the last statement, Mr. Borgin would instantly dislike Harry because he’s a half-blood, even if he’s friendly with the Malfoy’s. A lot of his clientele are pure-blooded wizards, therefore he took on their beliefs.”

“Arthur!” said Mrs. Weasley from next to him, slapping his arm. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Did Harry do anything odd in the store?” asked Mr. Weasley. “Did he touch anything or be drawn to anything at all?”

“Not really, why?”

“Because sometimes Mr. Borgin has artefacts that draw light wizards towards the object and then it’ll siphon their magic.”

“Arthur!”

“He just bickered with Malfoy, the young one, and glanced at some – uh – skulls and some creepy looking hand thing,” said Neville, attempting to retell how it all went. “He then vanished from sight for a while before he came over to investigate the thing that I was hiding in. If it wasn’t for Mr. Malfoy stopping him, he would have found me.”

“Fascinating,” said Mr. Weasley. “Was that all that happened?”

“Well… there was something else,” said Neville. “Mr. Borgin tried to steal from Mr. Malfoy and Harry caught it, I guess, and then pulled out his wand and threatened that Mr. Borgin returned the money stolen. When they left, Mr. Borgin began his rants about half-bloods again.”

“So the ickle Potter has a rather fierce side,” said Fred, sending a knowing look at his twin brother.

“Ickle Potter would have cursed Mr. Borgin –”

“Without a second thought,” finished Fred, a slight smile on his face.

“Fred, George, stop it,” said Mrs. Weasley in a scolding tone. “Harry Potter is a nice boy, I doubt he would have cursed anyone.”

“He’s a Slytherin mum!” said Ron. “They probably taught him Dark Arts.”

“Back to Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, stopping the bickering. “So he’s worried. Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…”

“You be careful, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply. “That family’s trouble, don’t go biting off more than you can chew.”

“So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” muttered Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione’s parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them. “But you’re Muggles!” he said delightedly. “We must have a drink! What’s that you’ve got there? Oh, you’re changing Muggle money. Molly, look!” He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger’s hand.

* * *

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_

_will be signing copies of his autobiography_

_MAGICAL ME_

_today 12.30 – 4.30 pm_

Harry stopped in the middle of Diagon Alley when he saw the sigh, which caused Draco to walk straight into his back. “Draco, look!” he said, gesturing towards the sign with a look on his face.

Lucius snorted and said nothing, especially when he received a glare from Harry. “You two boys have fun, I have one more errand to run and then I’ll meet you back here,” he said, slipping away from the crowd of females and two boys that just started.

“Harry,” said Draco, looking around. “There’s no other boys here, it’s just us!”

“So?”

“Can’t you see? The only people that like him are overaged and single women!” moaned Draco, his tone slightly whiny. “Not even mother likes him.”

“They only want him for his books,” said Harry. “I only want him for his talent.”

“You only want him?”

“Shut up,” said Harry. “I only want to meet him.”

“Sure.”

“We need to go into Flourish and Blotts anyway,” said Harry, tugging Draco closer towards the building.

“Oh now I see why you wanted to come here today,” said Draco, his tone calm. “We have twenty minutes until it starts, perhaps we can get in now and get your books,” he grasped Harry’s hand and led him though the crowd of old women. “Excuse me, my friend and I would like to enter the store so we can buy a few books before those hordes –”

“I’m sorry, sir, but no one enters,” the man in front of the door said calmly. “You will have to wait to meet Mr. Lockhart until the time you’re allowed to enter.”

“I don’t want to –”mumbled Draco into the hand that was slapped against his face.

“Of course we’ll wait, won’t we?” said Harry, glaring at Draco. “What are you looking at?” he asked the man in a cold tone of voice.

The man studied the two boys, finding it odd that boys were here to see Gilderoy Lockhart, of course he realized they were holding hands and realization dawned on him instantly. “I’m sorry, sir, I just got lost in a daydream. The store opens soon, you can come in then,” he said in a soft voice. “Please go and wait with the other witches.”

Draco muttered under his breath about disrespect and was eagerly pulled along by a stomping Harry, who was muttering under his breath about being forced to wait to buy books. He felt something in his hand and glanced down, his cheeks flushed when he realized he was holding Harry’s hand. Not wanting to cause a scene he stayed silent, which was until of course Harry noticed and pulled his hand away, his cheeks highly red.

The man standing at the door now looked highly harassed. “Calmly, please ladies… don’t push, there… mind the books, now,” his eyes found the two boys and he smiled. “Come in, boys,” he added a wink and smirked when the two boys flushed red.

“Up the stairs, Draco, I’ll get my books that I needed first before we get the school books,” said Harry and stepped up the stairs loudly. “They better have the books I want, they’ve been sold out so much recently, disgraceful.”

He danced around a few stray people and collected the books he needed, muttering a quick prayer to Salazar for this store finally having them in stock or in the open was a blessing. Of course when he turned around he saw Draco doing the most ridiculous thing.

“Draco!” he hissed and swiped the book from his friend’s hands. “Don’t destroy books!” he flipped the book and looked at the cover. “A book on snakes, Draco? How dare you –”

Draco shushed him as he slipped the pages from the book into his robes pocket and began walking down the stairs. “Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Longbottom?” he sneered at the boy, whose face was covered in soot. “Famous Neville Longbottom. Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

Right, Harry had missed the entire confrontation with Longbottom and Lockhart while he was engrossed in a book.

“Leave him alone!” snapped Ginny Weasley.

“Now one was speaking to you,” snapped Harry, turning towards the girl. “Shut your mouth.”

“Don’t speak to her like that!” said Neville.

“Still milking your fame, Longbottom?” said Harry, ignoring Ron who was glaring at him. “As if using it to get on the Quidditch team, which you absolutely suck at, wasn’t enough, you’re now here trying to steal fame from Gilderoy Lockhart.”

Neville said nothing and desperately tried to just leave, but Ron wasn’t having any of that.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron with a disinterested look as he caught sight of Malfoy and Potter. “Bet you’re surprised to see Neville here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” replied Draco with a slow drawl. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot.”

Ron went as red as Ginny, who was glancing at the floor, and dumped his books into the cauldron that his sister was carrying. “You want a go, Malfoy?” he said and slipped from Hermione’s and Neville’s grasps. He felt something poke into his chest, he glanced up to see Potter with his wand at his chest.

“Take another step forwards and you’ll regret it, Weasley,” said Harry, smirking. “I personally want you to push me so I can curse you.”

Ron snorted, knowing that Potter was all talk and flicked aside the wand that was pushing into his chest. He heard Hermione and Neville say something to him but he ignored them and took one steps forwards, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Harry flicked his wand upwards. “Levicorpus!” he muttered softly, just above his breath. He watched as the spell caught Weasley and flung him upwards by his ankle and swayed him a little in the air. He couldn’t hold the snort that released as he watched Weasley go redder and redder as more time went on. Each curse that Weasley let out was worth it, especially since the crowd had formed slightly and heard it all.

Hermione scowled and quickly whipped out her wand, taking pity on her friend, and aimed it at him. “Finite!” she said loudly and waited for him to drop to the floor. Nothing happened. “Finite Incantatem!” she said, completing the entire incantation, hoping that it would be enough. She hoped that Ron would fall and be able to stand upright, but nothing happened, both spells failed.

“Please, Harry, remove the spell,” said Neville, glancing at Ron. “It looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Harry hung his head in slight consideration, a smirk appeared on his face. “I’ll drop it if he agrees to do whatever I tell him for a week.”

“NO!” burst out Ron.

“What a shame,” said Harry, leaning against the wall. “I guess you deserve to hang up there, Weasley. I could have used a new minion.”

“Harry, please!”

“You know,” said Harry, his index finger on his chin. “I regret not sticking him to the roof with a Sticking Charm.”

James strode into Flourish and Blotts, a piece of parchment held loosely in his hand, and instantly saw a crowd forming just near the staircases. He saw Ronald Weasley hung up in the air by a very familiar spell, despite the crowd throwing various spells at it to make the spell release. He glanced around for the culprit of the spell, not that it could be many people as the spell wasn’t very well-known, especially in the current year.

Lily stepped in behind her husband and quickly cast the counter-curse. She watched as Ronald fell directly on his head and she winced, forgetting that the spell would latterly drop them when it was released. She already knew that Harry had cast it and she frowned as she made her way towards Ronald. “Are you alright?” she asked and then healed the few bruisers that appeared on the boy’s face and arms. “Sorry about that, I haven’t seen that spell used in a while. Last I heard, it went out of fashion in favour of more favourable and damaging jinxes.”

“I told you not to use that spell on other people,” said James, looking at his smirking son. “What were you thinking?”

“How do you know I cast it?” said Harry, running his tongue over his teeth. “I am so glad that the first thing out of your mouth is to accuse me and demand that I don’t use particular spells when you never even taught them to me.”

“I didn’t accuse you.”

“Yes you did,” said Harry. “You haven’t seen me in almost an entire year, we’re not counting the Quidditch game, as you didn’t go to see me, and the first thing you say to me is an accusation.”

“What do you mean?” asked James, standing still. “Of course I went to see you.”

“You dragged me off into the Gryffindor common room,” said Harry. “You dragged me into a common room of a house that I’m not even in. You then insulted Slytherin students, despite the fact that I’m a Slytherin.”

“It was a joke,” said James.

“I could have been attacked, I could have been hurt, but nope, you go straight to Weasley and make sure he’s fine before your own son.”

“He was hung up by his ankle for Merlin knows how long –”

“And because nothing could have happened to me, right?” said Harry, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “And don’t even say that you saw me first, as that’s impossible, despite what you say, the buildings floorplan blocks you from seeing me, in fact, the first thing you would have seen was Weasley and then me.”

“How was I meant to know if you were injured?”

“Oh, that’s right, you had no idea I’d be here today, did you?”

“Uh,” started James, unsure of what to say.

“Of course not,” said Harry. “Because you dumped me off on the Dursley’s doorstep and just forgot about me. That’s that, there goes the son you didn’t want.”

“You agreed to stay there, Harry, else we wouldn’t have left you there if you disliked it so much,” said James, his left hand carting through his hair. “And don’t be ridiculous, of course I want you, you’re my son.”

“Right,” sneered Harry. “Yes, your son that you left with Muggles without a single letter.”

“Being with Muggles isn’t a bad thing, Harry.”

“I never said it was, I never said that it was even an issue that you left me with Muggles or that I even detest you for that,” said Harry, his tone dripping agitation. “What annoyed me was the fact that you could hardly be bothered to even write to me during the entire school year. I didn’t expect to be greeted with passion from you when you learned what house I landed in, in fact I expected the cold shoulder for a few months until you grew up and realised that you disliking Slytherins is pathetic, but no, I got nothing.”

“I was letting you get settled in,” said James. “Not to mention the fact that work picked up while you were at Hogwarts.”

“Don’t even use the excuse that you were working and couldn’t write a single letter but somehow got the entire day off to go and watch Longbottom fly around and play Quidditch?” scoffed Harry, his eyes narrowed. “You’re never busy if Longbottom needs you, you’re always available if needs you. But your own son? No, your own son is neglected and I’m just expected to laugh it off and go with it.”

“That’s not what I had implied, Harry,” said James, throwing his hands up slightly.

“Of course not,” said Harry. “I can deal with not getting a letter every week, but when I look across the Great Hall and see Longbottom openly reading and laughing at a letter from you, it’s going to hurt. You wrote me the first day of Hogwarts and then you found out what house I landed in and that’s what caused it, isn’t it? You don’t want a Slytherin for a son, a disgrace to the famous Potter line who has landed in Gryffindor for centuries.”

“No, Harry, that isn’t it,” said James softly. “Let’s not do this here, Harry,” he reached out for his son and frowned when his son recoiled from him.

“Don’t,” snapped Harry, his voice cold.

“Harry –”

“So I get out from Hogwarts and get excited because I may finally see my father at the station,” said Harry, forcing a sarcastic laugh. “What a mistake, all I saw was mother, who kept apologizing on your behalf and then tried to make sure I was happy. Where were you? Why didn’t pick your own son up from Hogwarts?”

“I was busy, I was working on a case, Harry,” said James, his arm dropping back down to his side.

“Don’t lie to me,” yelled Harry, his eyes narrowed. “I know when you’re lying, I’m not stupid!” The attention drifted from Gilderoy Lockhart and fell onto the arguing father and son. “I’m not five and just caught you doing something you shouldn’t. You were writing Longbottom and you couldn’t write to me?”

James sighed, he glanced at Lily who shot him a look. “Harry…”

“Okay, I realize you may have been busy while I was at school, it makes sense, and I can forgive that,” said Harry, his face still blank. He was aware of the people staring at him, he found that he couldn’t care to address them for staring. “What is your excuse for missing my own birthday? I didn’t even get a card from you, that’s unforgivable!”

James took in a deep breath, clearly silence wasn’t going to work as he watched as his son turned towards Neville.

Harry glared at Longbottom, who had the nerve to stand there with a sheepish expression on his face. “Did you get a birthday card from _him_?” he spat the last word and continued to glare.

Neville sheepishly nodded, not wanting to. He didn’t want James to get in any more trouble than he already was. He knew instantly that it was a bad idea to nod when a chair shattered off to the side. He saw Lily tense out of the corner of his eyes, as did most of the people standing around in the store.

James repaired the chair with a flick of his wand and sent the store owner an apologetic smile. “Harry, please.”

“I almost died – I almost died when you dumped me off with the Muggles,” whispered Harry furiously. “You don’t even care, do you? You didn’t check up on me, you didn’t write to me, you didn’t even come and visit on my birthday, instead you just left me there without a whisper. A house-elf picked me up from the middle of the street because some psychopathic Muggle tries to stab a child walking down the street. What part of that do you not understand? Not even a whisper asking if I was fine or if I needed any help.”

“Harry, I couldn’t – how was I meant to get there? They don’t like magic.”

“You’re right, they don’t like magic,” said Harry with a scoff. “Yet you left your magical son there. I got on fine without the aid of magic, despite living in a magical household all my life. I got along fine with Aunt Petunia and learned so much about here that her opinion of you is actually correct. Vernon is actually a decent father to his son, and that says something when the person you called lousy is a better father to his son. I was able to get along with them, despite their so-called hatred for magic and you couldn’t even spend the time to drop by?”

“You could have wrote to me, Harry.”

“I left Hedwig with mother,” snapped Harry. “Do you expect me to just pull an owl from out of nowhere? Your intelligence is so pathetically low that you make Longbottom look like a genius!”

“Hey!” said Neville, looking slightly upset that he was used in a personal attack.

“It’s not my job to write to you, you’re the parent, be one!”

“Harry, control yourself,” said James, trying to soothe the conversation from yelling and change it back into one of calm speaking, like it was at the start. “I’m the Head –”

“Head Auror,” finished Harry in a mocking tone. “You’re the Head Auror, then a husband, and then a father figure to Longbottom, then a friend to the Weasleys, and then whatever else you do and on the bottom of the list you’re a father to me.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Harry,” said James. “I have been very calm with you until now, giving you the respect that you demand you deserve and treating you like an adult, even when you’re acting like a spoilt child. All of us have lives and those lives don’t revolve around you and your childish desires. I have to work so that you can have the things you demand and so that you actually have a comfortable bed to sleep in or would you rather sleep on the ground? I work to make this word safe for you, so that you don’t have to panic that you’re going to be attacked by evil witches and wizards. How can you even stand yourself to be able to throw that in my face? Neville has lost so much, yet you cannot even find it in your heart to act civil with him.” He leant backwards and frowned, especially when he noticed Lucius giving him a heated glare that told him that flight would have been better than to fight. He didn’t dare turn around and look at his wife, who would have had an even worse expression on her face.

Harry stood perfectly still, his anger bubbling inside of him, demanding to be released so that he can vent his frustrations and clam down that way instead of attempting to hold it in. He tried his hardest, not wanting to break anymore chairs with his magic that seemed to lash out on the first breakable object in the vicinity. He turned towards Draco and gently placed his books into his friend’s hands. “Please pay for these for me, Draco,” he asked calmly. “When the clerk asks what name will be on this, please state my full name and that it should be done in gold lettering. Thank you.”

“Alright,” said Draco automatically, holding the books.

“Get out of my way,” snapped Harry, facing James.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” said James instantly, his hands clenching. “I’m your father and you should treat me with respect and not yell at me and demanding things like you’re a four year old.”

Harry glared, saying nothing.

James had no idea what to do, he had no idea how to deal with a hormonal son, let alone one that was twenty times worse than him.

“I don’t care,” snapped Harry. “Get out of my way.”

James hesitated for a moment before returning the glare. “No.”

“This is your last warning,” said Harry angrily. “Get out of my way, James, before I make you move.”

James’ hesitation came back at full force at being addressed by his name and not father by his son. His glare morphed into a concerned expression and his eyes went upwards, just beyond his angry son and towards Lucius, who was gesturing for him to move out of the way in a gesture that he’d never thought a Malfoy would do. “Harry, please.”

Harry breathed in an angry manner, taking a large breath through his nose. “Move!” he said, flicking his wand from his left forearm and aiming it towards James’ chest. “I don’t care if you’re an Auror, when I tell you to move, you move!”

It was James’ Auror reflexes that allowed him to block and disintegrate, not wanting to deflect it towards others, the spell that his son threw at him. His eyebrows rose at the facial expression on his son’s face, it was full of bitterness and hatred. He pointing his wand and sighed, throwing a Silencing Charm at his son, making sure that he couldn’t cast anymore spells. It probably would have been a better option to just stun him and take him home where he could rest, but he was not about to stun a twelve year old child in public.

He knelt back down in front of his son, an action which he would later regret, and watched as a blue jet of magic flew at him from his son’s wand, hitting him in the chest and throwing him across the store. He wanted to applaud his son for doing nonverbal magic, but could hardly breathe without the pain hurting him. He watched as his son flung open the door to the building, shoved through people and stomped his way down Diagon Alley.

Lily moved straight to her husband’s side, making sure he was alright. “Why did you provoke him?” she instantly said. “When you return to work, you’re going to have a field day with this. With this much witnesses he could get into serious trouble, James, you should have let him go to blow off steam instead of keeping him there and causing his anger to build.”

“I didn’t – think – that would – happen,” croaked out James, the pain in his head from where he slammed into a wall was starting to make his eyes droop.

“Keep your eyes open, James, don’t be an idiot and close them, you have a concussion,” snapped Lily, grasping her husband’s face.

“He – he called me – James, not – father,” added James as he was supported by a few Aurors who came along when they were called, the order to apprehend the Head Auror’s son ignored as they walked past the fuming boy on the way to Flourish and Blotts.

“Draco, go see if you can find him, do not approach him at all… just make sure he leaves and returns to the manor,” muttered Lucius and leaned in. “I can assume he will hold his anger until he’s alone, which he will then break down. Go, I’ll pay for these.”

Draco nodded and slipped through the small crowd and out the door, chasing after his friend who was most likely already gone. A few moments later, while he panted, he caught Harry throwing floo powder into the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. Staring at his friend’s lips he was able to make out _Malfoy Manor_. He had no fear that his mother would be in danger, she would most likely cry with Harry to make sure he gets it out in the best, and safest way possible instead of throwing around spells. He made it back to Flourish and Blotts and realized the crowd had yet to disperse, but James Potter was gone.

Gilderoy Lockhart didn’t look put out at all. “We can just include the father son fight in my article,” he said happily, his charming smile didn’t waver.

The reporter disagreed, he could milk two first page stories out of this.


	8. The Consequences of Your Actions

Chapter 8 – **The Consequences of Your Actions**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 19/April/2016_

* * *

Severus took pride in being one of the most careful brewers that you could be, along with his title of the youngest Potions Master in Europe, so naturally he had many attention demanding things out of his house. So today, when he decided that he would spend the two months before school started up once again brewing highly delicate potions, ones that he wouldn’t ever dare brew when someone needed him. After all, he was highly short-tempered and that was well-known from his aggressiveness with failures in his class. Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw all tended to do well in potions and had very little mishaps in class, it was the Gryffindors that caused potions to explode, tables to melt and noxious fumes to fill the air.

He finely cut a rather rare ingredient and tossed it into the bubbling cauldron, just in the nick of time. The potion instantly swapped from a disgusting shade of red into a very fine light pink, not that he would ever saw that out loud. His hand haltered when a persistent buzzing appeared in his head, obviously the Floo.

He ignored it and continued to brew his potion. Whoever it was would get the hint soon enough and just leave and if they dared force entry he would have them on various charges. Of course, he should have turned off his Floo, but he vowed many years ago to leave it open besides at night.

The beeping intensified, letting him know that the person came through regardless and was now in his house. ‘If that’s Dumbledore, I swear to Merlin,’ he thought as he turned off the burner, knowing his potion was already ruined. ‘Someone owes me thirty-two Galleons.’

He intentionally took his time, if someone was going to ruin his potion, he was going to waste their time. It would teach them to just floo into his home, it was quite rude, equivalent to just apparating into a home, in fact, it would be more polite to just kick down the front door and shout your presence.

As he walked through the darkened hallway of his home he debated on who it could be, to better prepare himself against a conversation he wasn’t prepared for. He stopped at the room where the disturbance had come from and schooled his facial features into the best sneer he could, hoping to frighten the person who dared sit in his sitting room.

What he saw wasn’t something he would have thought he’d ever see, his sneer dropped from his face instantly and a Patronus was out of his wand before he moved into the room any further. His latest spell creation allowed him to temporally vanish one side of a surface, allowing him to see into the room without opening the door. It wasn’t perfect and he had been working on it for four years. It was a very complex spell to perform and had many algorithms that would make some of the best cringe as they read over it, but it allowed him to check what was going on without exposing himself.

He gently pushed the door open, his face natural and his posture relaxed, he took two steps into the room when he heard an intake of breath. He stood in front of the shaking body and dropped to his knees. “You know, Harry, I always allowed you come here whenever you wanted, no waiting needed. In six years you haven’t bothered to use that privilege, why now?”

“I hate James, I hate everyone!” said Harry in a slightly broken tone of voice, his chin resting on his knees as he sat on the rug in front of the fireplace.

“Hate is a very strong word, Harry, it’s not wise to fall towards using that particular word to describe things,” said Severus, stepping into the room. “Of course, I may sound the current headmaster and it may seem slightly out of character of me to not sneer at you and join in, but letting hate take over can drastically change you.”

“I know that,” said Harry.

Severus’ hand found its way to Harry’s slightly shaking shoulder. “You have every right to be as angry you are, even more so if what was said has rendered you this emotional,” he said softly, unsure of how to comfort the boy. “Just be careful on how you say things, else it could have the wrong effect and could ruin potential lifelong relationships.”

“I’m saying what I mean!” said Harry, his right hand plastered over his face. “I have no idea what I did wrong, I tried so hard.”

“Nothing, you did nothing wrong,” said Severus in a reassuring tone, his hand grip tightened slightly. “I cannot speak for James, nor do I wish to, but I know he loves you, he just has an odd way to show it.”

Harry frowned. “But –” he started but left it at that, unsure of how to even continue that line of thought. Instead, he just sat on the floor with his chin on his knees and didn’t allow his godfather to see his face. “I tried so hard to be the perfect son for him, better than Longbottom but it never worked. I tried so hard to be perfect.”

Severus wanted to sigh and curse the boy for his obvious stupidity when he was clearly so intelligent. He had honestly expected an emotional breakdown from Harry for a while now, especially with his hatred towards Longbottom and always being somewhat showed up whenever he did something notable. When he was taught to hide everything behind a mask since the tender age of seven it was bound to pile up and then release in this entire situation that is happened now. It was highly obvious that Harry was holding back words as well, unsure on how to properly say them without breaking his mask that’s devoid of any emotion.

“I hate Longbottom,” said Harry softly. “I wish he died along with his parents.”

“It has been many, many years since a first-year student has been able to achieve an ‘Outstanding’ on every subject taken, plus bonus marks in various subjects. It has been more than two centuries since a first-year was able to get on the Quidditch team, and even then that person wasn’t eleven, you’re by far the youngest Seeker ever,” said Severus, looking down at Harry. “It’s been an equal amount of time since a half-blood has been able to successfully influence most of the Slytherin house or cause them to have doubts.”

Harry shook his head, remaining silent as he listened to Severus’ kind words, if that was even possible for the man to morph from sneering into a smiling man, perhaps it was just his imagination. He had known the man for a long time, even in the periods where he vanished and not a whisper was heard from him, he knew that the man was far too serious to do something like laugh or smile.

Severus stood, his black robes falling around his knees as he did so. “Why don’t we have a little duel like we used to? It has been awhile, I want to see if you’ve improved.”

“Of course I’ve improved,” said Harry, lifting his head.

“I remember when you were six, just after that Christmas, and you found a stick in the front yard and pointed it at me, challenging me to a proper duel,” said Severus, his face blank but his eyes displaying the open emotion. “I had just recently altered the effects of the Stinging Hex and morphed it so it tickled instead of stung. I would cast hem at you and eventually I altered the colour of the jet so that it was random with every cast – that was your idea, in case you forgot. I included that when I submitted the spell, you know that right?”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said, “I had no idea that you submitted it.”

“I did,” said Severus. “People praised me for that spell as it allowed parents to teach their children to dodge different looking spells without harming them. Eventually I changed it to leave a stain on the clothes, which can be vanished, instead of ticking.”

“That’s a pretty smart idea.”

“You brat,” said Severus with a laugh. “I still remember the day that you sat outside with a stick, which you called a wand, and practised the wand movements and spell incantations.”

“Oh Merlin,” said Harry, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t remember half the things that I actually said besides one, and this one stuck with me for ages. I remember yelling at the tree, shouting ‘Leafiosa’ expecting leaves to grow on the trees.”

“That was shortly after I began to teach you about the Levitation Charm, right?”

“Yeah, it was,” said Harry. “I remember thinking that ‘levi’ was short for levitate so if I said ‘Leafiosa’ it’d work, but it didn’t.”

Severus laughed and quickly covered it up with a cough. “I was about the same when I was your age, Harry. It’s almost painful to reminisce on because I was so foolish back then,” he said with a slight pause. “I must admit though, Harry, you had a very powerful grip on your magic from a young age. If you tried, you could have done anything at a young age. I like to think you were best choosing studying over Quidditch or ample friends.”

Harry blinked slowly. “Are you crazy?” he said. “My grip on magic was horrible.”

“You were able to summon books rather often before you turned seven. If you wanted something, you would push your magic and let it get you it. Most people don’t display signs of magic until they’re about seven or eight, if I recall right, you displayed magic at two and then kept using it. You’re going to be powerful, Harry, very powerful.”

Harry couldn’t help but snort. “I’m nothing special, you know that.”

“That is such a lie and you know it, Harry,” said Severus. “We all have different levels of power, not that it could be measured and utilized in that way, but still. You’re the son of an old and rather prestigious line, not as old as other families, but far more respected and then you have your mother, a very powerful and naturally talented witch. Combine the two and you have you, a new generation of blood, refreshed and renewed due to the new blood and DNA added from Lily.”

“Yeah, I know that,” said Harry, not following the line of thought.

“You stand by your phrase that knowledge is power, and I cannot argue with its validity as it is strangely correct. If you keep studying, Harry, you’ll grow more powerful.”

“What if I want to be normal, what if I don’t want to be powerful? Did you even – hey! Don’t laugh at me!”

“I apologise, Harry, but the seven year old you would run around the house claiming that you would be the best and most powerful wizard since Merlin himself. Whenever Neville Longbottom came around your attitude would change and you’d scowl and flare at him as if he was the bane of all your issues.”

“And?”

“ _And_ ,” repeated Severus. “If you let me finish, we’d be getting to that. I believe one day, you’ll show everyone what you’re capable of, and you’ll do great things, Harry, great things.”

Harry forced a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Of course, but it won’t be anytime soon,” he said. “I want to improve greatly and maybe become the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. If I can hold my marks Dumbledore won’t be able to turn me down, even fresh out of school.”

“That’s some ambition you have, Harry,” said Severus, knowing that his next words may deter his godson from that path in life. “You know that position is cursed? In my entire time at Hogwarts, no Defence Against the Dark Arts professor has lasted more than a year.”

“That’s because they’re all incompetent,” said Harry, looking at the wall just behind Severus. “Last year Voldemort was our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, how disturbing.”

Severus winced but covered it well. “How did you know about that, Harry? I also admire your Gryffindor bravado, but do not speak his name in this house. It’s not fear that makes me not want it said, it’s the stigma and the fact it used to be under the Taboo Curse, as you’re aware.”

“Saint Longbottom…” started Harry and turned to look at Severus. “He was sprouting it off to his friends, bragging about what he did in that chamber. I don’t believe it though, not for a second.”

Severus knew when Harry lied, always has been able to. He pushed it out of his mind and sent his godson a quick smirk. “Well, let’s duel, Harry.”

Harry stood slowly, his eyes following Severus as he did so. He made sure that his movements were slow and not fast, not wanting to give away any edge that he could have before the duel even started. He pulled his wand from his wrist and placed it in front of him, just missing the fact that Severus had caused all the furniture to stack up against the far wall.

“Are you ready, Harry?” asked Severus, bowing a respectable distance.

“Of course,” said Harry, bowing down the same distance.

Severus waited patiently for Harry to make the first move, like most duels it all started off on the first move and if no one moved the duel could be at a standstill for a while until something for agitated enough to throw the first spell. He knew that Harry always played black in chess, so he’d use the same tactic and use the first spell of the enemy to capitalise and push on from that. The issue was that both of them had that same tactic.

It didn’t take long for Harry to give up and take on his more usual aggressive approach to duelling, bombarding the enemy with spells in an attempt to knock them off their game.

The method he was using was often called spell-chaining, a known tactic, but hardly ever utilised. One would follow through the flick of the previous spell with another, often adding in pointless spells such as the Levitating Charm, simply because the flick is perfect for an upwards Stunning Charm.

Severus took the time to appreciate Harry’s form, in a duelling perspective, as he deflected a stray Cutting Hex that could have caused some damage if it had actually landed. He realised that Harry had an almost professional duelling stance, clearly taught by Narcissa or Lucius. In the posture was a tiny bit of Lucius, Narcissa and Bellatrix. Having duelled alongside the insane witch countless times, he could say that he recognised it from anywhere. He shuddered at the mere thought of Harry resembling that maddened loon of a woman.

He quickly sent a spell at Harry, who looked far too smug for holding up for so long. He did debate using Legilimency during the duel, which was one of his common tactics, allowing him to see what the enemy would do before they even did, but Harry was an odd case and had impenetrable walls, much like the Dark Lord.

He quickly straightened up and looked at Harry’s footing, which was slightly off. A weak spot. He knew that Harry’s next dodge would cause him to either lose his footing or put him in a position that he couldn’t do anything to block or attack. He sent a very minor hex at Harry and smirked when the boy frowned at the simplicity of the curse.

The hex did its job and Harry almost toppled over trying to dodge it.

With a small groan, Harry was able to correct himself after dodging the stupid hex. He stood with his back firm and about a few steps away from the center of the makeshift duelling platform. The issue with duelling Severus was that the man utilised every ounce of Slytherin cunning he could, each spell had a different intention behind it, for example: the most recent spell. He hardly had enough time to dodge the second spell that came at him when he was straightening up.

He felt the spell connect with his chest and blinked when he didn’t lose consciousness and was still able to move around. He glanced at Severus, who had a very smug expression on his face, which meant that the duel was far from over and that he was just messing around. Of course.

The effect of the spell didn’t start until he attempted to exhale and then it appeared to begin. It became highly painful to actually breathe, as if an invisible hand was grasping him around the chest and forcing the air out of him. His eyes widened and he was on the brink of becoming unconscious, his vision wavering as he glanced around.

The spell vanished and Harry dropped to his knees, panting.

“You did well, Harry,” said Severus, helping the boy up and feeding him a potion that he had summoned from his lab. “You held your own and forced me to rely on spells that I wouldn’t ever dare teaching students.”

“What was that spell?” said Harry the moment he could speak without experiencing pain. “It felt like a giant was squeezing my chest and shaking me around. It was great.”

“Trust me when I say this, Harry, the spell shouldn’t feel great or be great, as you so eloquently put it,” said Severus. “It was Dark Magic, a very old and rather unknown spell that I found in my youth. I shouldn’t have used the spell on you, it wasn’t very wise of me.”

“But –”

“It’s not that I want you to fall behind in theory of magic, Harry,” interrupted Severus, already knowing what the boy would say. “I’d love to see you highly knowledgeable in every branch of magic, especially if you aim to pursue the Defence Against Dark Arts position. You must wait until you’re older than twelve to start practicing and learning about the Dark Arts, else it’ll hook you quicker than you’ll ever know and before you know it you’ll be driven insane by the sheer thought of the power you could control.”

“You know all sorts of interesting spells and I’m always left out,” said Harry. “I don’t want to sound like a whiny, begging child, but it felt good, it felt natural, even if I was on the receiving end,” he blurted out the last part and scowled. “You know that I’d never use it for nefarious purposes, strictly academic.”

Severus sighed and scowled at the boy in front of him, not that the scowl was genuine. He remembered his first taste of Dark magic and while it wasn’t like what Harry had said, it was similar and he chose to pursue it. If he didn’t teach the boy, the boy would rush off and learn it by himself and then there’d be another insane dark wizard in the world, and this one would cause much more damage than Bellatrix ever could. “Sure, Harry, I’ll teach you this one spell, but that’s it.”

“Awesome!”

“This spell can kill, Harry, do not ever use it for longer than what I suggest,” said Severus. “It would not be a merciful death for the person and you’d find yourself in Azkaban quicker than you can think of an excuse to use.”

“Hmm.”

“Say what you’re thinking,” said Severus. “Don’t just making thinking sounds towards me.”

“How would they even know who did it?” asked Harry. “It seems odd that it can be traced.”

“All magic leaves a mark, Harry, not just Dark Magic,” said Severus. “Dark Magic tends to linger longer, especially around the person who cast it. Put two and two together and you’ll get the answer.”

“Right.”

“I’ll also teach you the counter to the spell,” said Severus, shifting the boy’s arms into the correct position to cast the spell. “As with most spells that belong in the category of the Dark Arts, a ‘Finite’ will fail to remove the effects of the spell.”

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I do hope that this letter finds you at a time where you can take it without it looking suspicious. I saw you in Diagon Alley the other day, I was happily eating my ice-cream, away from the commotion of Gilderoy Lockhart, and then I saw you storming off. I was going to call after you, but you looked rather peeved and in my experience as a young boy, I found that in those times it was best to be with someone you cared about, and as much as it hurts my old bones, you do not care about me – I’m kidding, alright. We’re not friends yet and that can change._

_Attached to this letter is a Portkey, it’ll activate whenever you say ‘The Stone’ after five seconds, so I do hope you’re not reading this out loud or near someone else. The Portkey will drag you directly into my sitting room._

_The Portkey was made illegally, so I do hope you will not snitch on me, judging by your actions, I highly doubt you would anyway._

_Kind regards,_

_Nicolas._

Harry held the letter in his hand for less than twenty seconds before picking up the Portkey and setting the letter on fire. He muttered to himself about weird letters and traps that could take him into random rooms that could have Dumbledore or Aurors in it at any given moment. “The Stone,” he whispered and barely had time to correct himself as the ever familiar pull of an invisible hook around his naval swept him off his feet.

He landed with as much grace as one could as he landed in the sitting room of the Flamel family. He glanced around the room, taking in everything it had for offer, especially if this was indeed the home of the Flamel family and had never been seen before. He saw a few photo frames littered around the room, containing three people, two adults, around thirty, and a little girl. His eyes landed on the rather large window that was covered in light blue curtains that hung freely, a little wooden stab keeping the bottom part of the curtains from hitting the floor. On the blank wall appeared to be a rather large piece of Beauxbatons insignia.

“You must be the young man that Nicolas keeps talking about,” said an elderly lady, who had come into the room from nowhere. “Would you like anything to drink? We have tea, water, milk, cocoa and other things I’m sure a growing boy would enjoy.”

“No thank you, Madam,” Said Harry, giving her a polite bow. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Nicolas is just touching up on a potion that he was brewing,” said the woman in a motherly tone. “You may sit down if you wish, I’ll send him up for you, else he’ll be stuck in his lab all day and your trip would have been wasted.”

Harry nodded and sat in one of the chairs that was pushed towards the side, just under the large window. The chair was actually far more comfortable than it looked, seeing a sit looked like a slab of stone.

“Nicolas, que le jeune Potter garçon est ici – hurry up!”

Harry jumped when he heard the shouting by the woman, even more so when it came out in French and he only understood two of the words said. “Mr. Flamel –”

Nicolas paused in the doorway, his eyes twinkling. “I thought that we agreed that you would call me Nicolas, correct?”

“We did…”

“Then these courtesies are not needed,” said Nicolas. “After all, we’re all friends here.”

Harry leant back in the chair, enjoying the comfort of it more than usual. “I must apologise, I cannot stay very long,” he said. “I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving.”

“You did what!” said Perenelle, who had just walked into the room holding a tray of eta and biscuits. “You boys are all the same, never telling us where you’re vanishing off to. Your mother must be worried sick!” She gave Harry a look that portrayed just how annoyed and displeased with the piece of news that she was. “And you,” she said, turning on Nicolas. “Stop smirking and encouraging him!”

“I’m sure that Draco will get over m abrupt disappearance,” said Harry calmly, his eyes betraying none of his inner thoughts. “Draco would cover for me, as he has before, if it’s for educational purposes, which I can easily tell him it was without revealing anything.”

“Oh?”

“If not,” said Harry, smirking. “I’ll just have to do a favour for him and demand his silence that way.”

“A favour?” repeated Perenelle, completely confused. “So he’ll cover for you if you do him a favour?”

“Well, in Slytherin, we work by a favour system. As long as the favour asked is valid and won’t cause any harm or social stigma to the person it’s acceptable and is used to pay off any debts that you have accumulated.”

“Wait, so you could ask someone to give you a –”

“NICOLAS!”

“I was going to say a –”

“I’m warning you!”

Harry snickered. “If you don’t do it, you’ll end up as a pariah in the Slytherin house, which is worse than it sounds,” said Harry. “I’m not too sure on how the other houses handle it, to be honest.”

“That is so odd,” said Perenelle, mainly to herself, trying to grasp the context of favours. “At Beauxbatons, we treated each other like family, everything was done out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“I’m sure you’d be hexed if you said anything like that in Slytherin,” said Harry. “Slytherin tends to pride itself on following ancient traditions that date back to the founder’s era.”

“It’s best to move forwards, not remain in the same place,” said Nicolas. “Half these traditions you follow have been obsolete for a very, very long time and only recently bought back.”

Harry nodded along with the discussion, already knowing that most of the ancient traditions were hogwash and newly invented, but he didn’t come here to discuss that, he had Draco for that. “I do hate to cut this amazing discussion short, but I am slightly limited by time and unless you have a Time-Turner, I’m afraid we’ll have to pick up the pace.”

“Of course,” said Nicolas fondly. “Would you mind if my lovely wife, Perenelle, remained as we discussed this?”

Harry gave the man an odd look.

“Of course I can understand your reluctance.”

“Don’t mistake my odd look for rejection,” said Harry with a smile. “I was simply confused that you would ask such a thing when I’m certain this concerns your wife just as much as it concerns us.”

“Right you are,” said Nicolas. “I was just making sure.”

“Ah,” said Harry simply as he shifted on the seat slightly. “Currently, the Philosopher’s Stone is safely tucked away in my vault in Gringotts, which only I have access to.”

“Are you sure that’s a safe location?” asked Perenelle. “Wasn’t Gringotts broken into previously?”

“As safe as it could be,” said Harry. “Unlike the previous time the Stone was hidden in Gringotts, it hasn’t been spread around. The Stone was clearly placed inside Gringotts as bait by the headmaster, Dumbledore.”

“That means…”

“Exactly, Nicolas,” said Harry. “Dumbledore wafted it under his nose to see if the man was really still around, which he is.”

“Oh my,” said Perenelle. “Surely he’s dead?”

“Alive, but not human. A spirt would be the best explanation for him,” said Harry. “As I was saying before, the Stone is hidden and I was able to walk it straight by Dumbledore and he didn’t notice it, so I know it’s safe.”

Perenelle paused and debated this for a moment. “Albus has often been called the greatest sorcerer alive, how did you fool him?”

“Perenelle, my love, Harry did nothing, the Stone cannot be traced with magic, else we would have had visitors by now,” said Nicolas. “It could be crushed up and put in your breakfast and you’d never know.”

“Great analogy, Nicolas,” said Perenelle before turning back to the young boy. “If you don’t mind, as I am rather curious, sharing how you actually obtained the Stone?”

Harry gave the elderly woman a fond smile, despite the fact that he was internally cursing her because apparently stating that things should be wrapped up required a story. “This is going to make me sound bad, but whatever,” he said with an eye roll at his own dramatics. “My curiosity grew when I realised I forgot who you were, no matter what I was doing, I just couldn’t put together Nicolas Flamel and get the alchemist, a rather piece of magic by Dumbledore, I assume.”

“Rather obvious magic also,” said Nicolas. “Instantly forgetting who I was would have triggered something in those that knew who I was.”

“The genius part of it that once you knew and connected the dots, it all made sense and it just felt like you had a lapse of memory for three months,” said Harry, reminiscing. “Regardless, I followed the lead and the Golden Trio, Neville Longbottom and his gang of friends, lead me straight towards what was hidden in the school. It peaked my interest to know that they were blaming the wrong candidate for the theft of the Stone.”

“Who were they blaming?” asked Perenelle.

“Severus Snape,” said Harry with a slight chuckle. “He fits the part well, but it wasn’t him that was after it.”

Harry skimmed over a few parts of the story and explained each part of the traps that were made, making sure to complain about the three-headed dog and that you couldn’t just blow apart the chess pieces, which earned him a laugh. He explained how Ronald Weasley, a part of the Golden Trio, played the chessboard incorrectly and sacrificed himself in a spiralling boost of Gryffindor courage.

“I don’t understand,” said Nicolas. “How did he play it wrong?”

“You didn’t actually have to be a piece to play the game, you could stand on the side and call out or simply be the king and concede before you would be taken and restart,” explained Harry. “He sacrificed himself for nothing.”

“Ah,” said Nicolas. “Now that makes sense.”

“Then it was a troll, after the chess challenge, which had already been dealt with and all you had to do was sneak by its corpse, and then the second last room, which is my favourite, potions.”

“Then was the troll, then potions – which I could have done in my sleep and finally the Mirror.”

“That seems like an awfully condenses version,” said Perenelle. “What else happened in this mighty adventure that you had in acquiring the Stone?”

“Yes, I must admit I only glazed over half of what happened,” said Harry, laughing. “In the final room, just after the potions room, I saw Longbottom fighting Professor Quirrell, who just so happened to be possessed by You-Know-Who. I caught sight of the Mirror of Erised, I saw my own reflection tapping on my pocket and then pulled out the Stone. As if that happened, the Stone appeared in my pocket and I quickly bailed.”

“You left the Longbottom boy?” asked Perenelle, shocked. “You just left him?”

“Yes,” said Harry without a trace of emotion in his voice. “You can dislike me all you wish for doing that, but I stand by my decision. If I had remained, I would have been spotted and the Stone would have been destroyed.”

“But you left an innocent boy to just die.”

“Dumbledore was on his way, hence why I left as quickly as I did,” said Harry. “Longbottom was alive, sadly, and required no immediate attention. I wasn’t afraid of You-Know-Who, as even if he had spotted me, he wouldn’t have killed me.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Nicolas. “That man has no sane part in his mind.

“He seems to somewhat respect my talent. He said as much while he possessed the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I was, after all, the only student below fifth-year to receive bonus marks in the subject, earning an ‘Outstanding+’,” said Harry with a small shrug. “There’d be no love lost between me and Longbottom regardless. He could be getting killed and I would turn and walk away with no issue. He… annoys me. I hate him.”

Perenelle studied the youth for a brief moment before nodding sadly. “Hate is a very powerful word, Harry,” she said softly, just above a whisper. “The Stone, why did you seek it and claim it for yourself?”

“I don’t fear death,” said Harry, rubbing the side of his cheek he sighed. “I fear that I’ll never learn everything that I need to in one lifetime. There’s thousands of years of knowledge out there, I cannot learn it all in two hundred years.”

“You may not fear death, but leaving someone to die isn’t a respectable choice.”

“Better them than me,” said Harry with another shrug. “I have self-preservation in large quantities, in fact I’d say I have backup supplies of it. I simply sought the Stone to extend my life.”

“As do I, but I would assist someone if they were dying,” said Nicolas.

“I can understand why you may dislike the idea of how I put those words, but just so you know I have no idea of ever replacing You-Know-Who, I just want to learn and study as much things as I can.”

“I would have never accused you of such,” said Perenelle. “I was just simply confused on the matter that you would allow another person to just die.”

“Oh, no, no, you have me mistaken!” said Harry, his eyes widening. “I’d just let Longbottom die, honestly. If someone attempted to kill my mother, my snake, my godfather or any of the Malfoys, I would protect them and then make whoever attempted such a thing pay dearly.”

A silence filled the small sitting room of the Flamel residence, a silence that could be disturbed by a simple rusting of fabric or a soft wind would sound as if it was a hurricane.

“Right,” said Nicolas. “I guess it may be high time that we get into this whole business with the Stone – do people still say high time?”

“No,” said Harry, stifling a laugh. “I’ve never heard that before, sounds like something a cowboy would say.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone is priceless, what can we do for you?”

Harry leant back on the sofa and drummed his fingers on the armrest. “As of current, I have no real desire to use the wealth aspect of the Stone, at least not until I’m older and wish to purchase a house to get out of home. I’m not saying that I have no use for it in the future.”

“At least you’ve got your head on straight,” said Perenelle. “I was expecting you to demand millions worth of gold and crash the market.”

“My only other request was for the Stone to remain here, but in a room that we can all access freely, meaning that we can come and go and collect what we need and then leave without anyone knowing.”

“That one can be done,” said Nicolas. “There’s a shed out the back that has its own Fidelius Charm covering it, Perenelle is the Secret Keeper of that.”

“I needn’t ask a stupid question like: does anyone know about it,” said Harry with a chuckle. “I guess that could work, overtime we can work on the charms for the building to make it safer in case anything goes wrong.”

“Perenelle and I are highly talented with Charms and wards, as you’re aware it’s impossible to owl either of us, even if we’re not at home. Our house is layered behind two Fidelius Charms and other charms you wouldn’t know how to cast in your peakiest condition.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or not by that assessment,” said Harry in a joking manner, his eyes displaying the mirth.

“I wouldn’t be… we were simply stats facts. However, we may be older but in some sense, not as wise,” said Perenelle, her tone filled with some sort of regret. “We never should have made the Stone public, people wouldn’t have any clue and wouldn’t seek after it, but not much we can do now.”

“Indeed,” said Nicolas. “Now, let’s discuss these details so that you can leave and I can go back to my potions, I am near a breakthrough.”

“Can I call my house-elf here? She listens solely to me and no one else, no one else will ask her anyway. She’ll be able to get the Stone from my vault and bring it here.”

Nicolas nodded and watched as the house-elf popped into his sitting room, directly next to the boy and then kept its eyes from everything in the room.

“Mopsy, can you go to my vault and pick up a book? It’s my special book, grab it and come back here, please,” asked Harry, a wide smile on his face. He waited for the house-elf to vanish before he lifted his head towards the Flamels. “Don’t worry about Mopsy, I learned early on that you could win house-elves over easily with kindness instead of beating them. She knows not to glance around when she comes to an unknown place.”

“That’s incredible!” said Perenelle. “Does she punish herself when she deems her task a failure?”

“I hate to admit such things, but the very first time I saw her do it I was mortified,” said Harry, shaking his head. “You see, I couldn’t speak until I was six, I was mute and that caused issues with orders between us. I first met her when I was five and at the time she served another family and was being trained to serve me, not that I should have known that. Anyway, I caught her doing it one day and I couldn’t order her to stop whatever she was doing because I couldn’t give her the verbal command. I got Narcissa and she stopped her from doing it.”

“You couldn’t speak until you were six? Fascinating.”

Harry smiled. “A story for another time,” he said with a slightly wider smile. “When I could speak, the first thing I did was ordering her to never beat herself. She looked pained at that and we made a compromise. I told her that every time she _failed_ a task, she would simply make two cupcakes instead and then to bring them to me and we’d eat them together and forget all about the failed task.”

“That is – it’s astonishing!” said Perenelle. “I had no idea that it was possible to do that.”

“If she isn’t back within fifteen minutes then she’s failed her task and is making a fresh batch of cupcakes, but I doubt that,” said Harry. “She’ll have to relay her command to enter my vault before she can go in.”

A loud pop startled the room and Mopsy bowed at Harry, holding the book in her hands. “I gotted it, Little Master,” she said, handing it over with teary eyes. “Will that be being all, Little Master?”

Harry reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a letter. “Could you please take this to mother?” he asked, handing it over. “After that, you may do what you were doing previously.”

Mopsy vanished with another soft pop.

“I placed the Philosopher’s Stone in here, not many people would think of something like this, so I thought it was pretty genius,” said Harry, flicking open the dummy book, revealing the blood red crystal. “What I’ll most likely do is send Mopsy to collect my share of the Elixir whenever it’s ready instead of me coming, it’ll stop suspicion rising that way.”

“Good idea,” said Perenelle.

Nicolas nodded firmly, glancing at the Stone carefully. “Do you require an Unbreakable Vow?”

Perenelle tensed and glanced at her husband.

“I don’t wish to be tied down with a vow that can kill me,” said Harry, agreeing with Perenelle’s worry. “We can just create a magical contract and swear an oath and it’ll be good, we can include Mopsy in the contract as well.”

“What sort of oath?”

“An anti-treachery oath,” said Harry. “Any thoughts of treachery would instantly notify the others. The more someone thought about doing it, the more the thoughts were pushed towards others.”

Nicolas and Perenelle signed the little contract without a questioning glance. They both knew about this particular oath, it wasn’t hidden, but it was hardly used. There wasn’t many nonlethal oaths that could be sworn as it was impossible to steal magic and it was impossible to make an oath do severe amounts of pain. The anti-treachery oath made the most sense.

“Before you leave,” said Nicolas, signing his name with a flick. “There’s a few more things we need to discuss and then you can be on your way.”


	9. Nagini’s Demand

Chapter 9 – **Nagini’s Demand**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 23/April/2016_

* * *

Harry arrived back at Malfoy Manor without anyone being the wiser that he had actually left. He smirked as he walked softly throughout the halls of Malfoy Manor and towards his bedroom, making sure to remain silent, not wanting to be bombarded with various questions on his sneaking around in the early afternoon. He was certain that the entire family, except for Abraxas, was in the drawing room, so he would be safe for at least a while.

When he stepped into his bedroom, which hardly took any time at all to reach, he noticed that there were two owls sitting on his desk. He closed the door and glanced towards his bed, seeing Nagini with an equally annoyed expression as the owls. ‘At least she didn’t eat the owls,’ he thought as he slowly walked towards the owls, who instantly swooped him as soon as he made a movement.

After dealing with the rabid owls, he simply watched as they dropped the letters, hooted at him angrily and flew out the open window. He realised at that moment that he had been neglecting Hedwig and decided that over the next few days he would give her a bit of affection. He walked over towards the desk and picked up the letter that was on the top. He broke the seal with a slight sigh.

_Dear Harry,_

_I just wanted to say thank you for the letter that you sent along, it means so much. I do wish that you’d use your owl and not a house-elf, seeing as the owl you got was apparently meant for Neville, not that he minds. I didn’t want to write you discussing this, so I’ll get to the point._

_I just wanted to let you know that you have a meeting with the headmaster on the first of September, I’m not sure what time, but I assume it’ll be straight after the Sorting Ceremony. It could also before, I’m not sure. You could miss the sorting completely or arrive late. I am unsure of the reasoning, as Dumbledore was cryptic, as he always is, and said nothing about it, just that I, James and you should be present._

_Your father may be unable to attend, due to work and the fact that he sets the big cases for when you’re away. Speaking of which…_

_This is the second issue that I’m going to attempt to address with you, and it’s an important one. I know that this’ll make you someone angry and irritated, but just hear me out. I know you’re a lot like me and don’t take anything serious unless it’s spoken face to face and I urge you not to feel like that this time. You know your father tries his hardest and it’s not the fact that you’re in Slytherin or that he cares more for Neville than you. He has been working really hard these past few months, as have we all and I hope in due time you’ll realise why it’s necessary._

_I’ll see you soon, please be good._

_Love you, Lily._

Harry scowled at the letter and placed it on the desk with a frown. It was always like this, always his mother apologising for the actions of James and not James himself. He knew that it’d never change and that James would never grow up and admit that he’s done something wrong, instead he’ll hide behind his wife to clean up for him.

He picked up the other letter and opened it with his finger. He skimmed the letter and it showed exactly what his mother had already said. He had a meeting with the headmaster the moment school started and not to be late.

“ **What has you bothered, youngling**?” hissed Nagini from the bed, scenting her younglings annoyance. “ **Surely those feathery pests didn’t work you up that much**.”

“ **I’m fine, Nagini, your ability to care about me is matched by none** ,” hissed Harry in reply before letting out a slight chuckle that sounded suspiciously fake. “ **I just have a meeting with the headmaster before the next year starts, I wonder what it’s about**.”

“ **I suggest you find something else to do, as all your attempts at humour are quite horrid** ,” hissed Nagini, her head pushed against the blankets pooled on the end of Harry’s bed. “ **You dislike this headmaster? Perhaps I should come along and bite him**.”

“ **You cannot bite him, Nagini, I would get in trouble for it**.”

“ **They would never know it was me**.”

“ **It’s not like he’s a threat. I just don’t like meeting with him, every time I have, something bad has happened**.”

“ **I’ll bite whoever I please, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini in a somewhat haughty manner, if that was even possible for a snake. “ **I’ll be coming with you to that place this time, you must take me**.”

“ **Snakes aren’t accepted on the list** ,” hissed Harry, not even looking at Nagini. “ **If they were, I would have taken you last year**.”

“ **Who says you have to tell people you took me along**?”

Harry snorted. “ **They’d know, Nagini**.”

Nagini lifted her head from the bed. “ **You either take me to your school or I’ll disallow you from going** ,” she hissed in a demanding tone. “ **If I must, I’ll simply bite you and stop you from going as you would be far too weak**.”

Harry threw his hands up in the air and turned and faced Nagini. “ **Fine, you may come with me to Hogwarts** ,” he hissed in reply, smirking at Nagini. “ **However, we’re going to have to tell Dumbledore, the headmaster, that you’re a domesticated pet and you listen to my commands**.”

“I like it when you get in these manipulating moods, youngling,” hissed Nagini, slithering over towards Harry. “ **We can play the perfect pet and human combination, I can follow your orders. You must keep your ability to speak to us snakes a secret, above all else**.”

“ **I’m not an idiot, Nagini** ,” hissed Harry, frowning. “ **From time to time, I do actually listen to your advice, you know**.”

“ **You could have fooled me, youngling**.”

“ **Ouch** ,” hissed Harry, holding his hand over his heart.

“ **Drama queen** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **Now tell me how we’re going to handle this situation, as I have done everything else, that you have gotten us into** –”

“ **Me? Not likely**!”

“– **the headmaster, as you call him, must believe our plan or we’ll be caught and it’ll be over before it even starts. Revealing that you can speak to snakes should be kept secret, no matter the bargain, it’s a rare and powerful gift that people are better not knowing**.”

“ **I know that** ,” hissed Harry.

“ **Just making sure** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **The headmaster will not be diluting my venom, not at all, I shall bite him if he even dares think of it**.”

“ **Now who’s being the drama queen**?”

“ **My venom would be powerful even while diluted, but it makes me feel weaker. My prey should die quickly, not slowly, unless I demand them to suffer**.”

“ **Yes, I have heard this rant before, Nagini** ,” hissed Harry in reply, almost on instinct.

* * *

Harry sat in the Headmaster’s office, his feet were placed stiffly on the ground, all etiquette training coming out in full force, much to the amusement of several portraits. Despite the fact he knew that James wasn’t going to attend, a seat was set out for him and it was, unsurprisingly enough, empty. He carefully observed the headmaster, who was more preoccupied with eyeing his bowl of treats as if he just wanted to reach in and snatch one out and eat it. He watched das if it was in slow motion as the headmaster slipped his hand into the bowl and pulled out a wrapped yellow candy,  unwrapping it and slipping it between his lips quicker than it should be possible to do at the age he was. He couldn’t help but sneer at the man.

“Right,” said Dumbledore, looking sated after eating that one candy. “I’m sure we best get this meeting underway or Minerva will be displeased that I made her do the entire Welcoming Feast by herself.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, Albus,” said Lily, smiling.

“Perhaps,” said Dumbledore simply, his eyes turned towards Harry and then back to Lily. “This year has a lot more students than the last few.”

“Because after Voldemort fell, at the hands of our very own saviour, people realised it was safe enough to have children.”

“Right you are, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore. “So we best get this started and not waste any more time. A few of the professors have expressed certain concerns that the work we’re providing you with, Mr. Potter, is not adequate for your skill level.”

“I’m a genius, what else can I say?”

“Be that is it may, the concerns are warranted,” said Dumbledore. “A select few are certain that you have overstudied and moved on far too quickly for your own good.”

“ _Overstudied_?” repeated Harry, his tone dripping something akin to disbelief. “How can someone overstudy, how ridiculous.”

“It is possible, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, picking up another candy from the bowl. “You know that the magical core begins growing at the age of eleven, hence why you begin your magical education at eleven and no sooner.”

“I know that,” said Harry. “Of course, is that rule nullified for the famous saviour who was practicing duelling at the age of seven?”

“I’m not sure how you know about Neville’s training, but I have a theory,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “That isn’t what I called this meeting about. I am just pushing forwards the professors concerns onto you, seeing as they concern you.”

“Shouldn’t they be happy that I’m learning things?”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement and clasped his hands over his lap. “They are just concerned that you seem to know things that not even fifth-years would know. They are, as I called it, concerned about the fact that you push yourself to study everything and that you spend a large quantity of your time in the library.”

“I simply assumed that the point of the library was to study,” said Harry, a sneer forming on his face as he glanced at the headmaster. “Please forgive me for implying something as stupid as that.”

“Harry!” scolded Lily as she turned to face her son, who was sitting there with his arms crossed across his chest and a determined expression on his face. She didn’t need to say anything more, so she turned back to the headmaster. “I’m slightly confused on all the attention that you’re forcing onto my son. I was the same when I was attending here, I spent a vast majority of the time in the library with Severus, trying to study as much as I could during my free time. I didn’t get the same grades as Harry, but I did well enough.”

“No harm done, Lily,” said Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling. “I must apologise, Mr. Potter, I was just relaying specific words given to me by other professors. There was a few that accused you of harbouring a certain gift that explains why you did so well.”

Harry tensed but remained quiet. A talent could describe many things. “I spent a lot of time in the library,” he said in a slightly cold voice, his tone almost icy. “You can even ask Madam Pince if you think I’m lying. She and I, we were almost on a first-name basis.”

“Irma and I were on a first-name basis also when I attended here, she’s a lovely woman, highly protective of her books,” said Lily, intercepting any kind of argument starting.

Harry listened to the conversation between his mother and the headmaster with some trepidation, mainly because they were both very close to uncovering a number of abilities he had while they idly discussed other people. He needed to refrain from being so obvious with them. He believed that he should have already informed the Slytherins about his ability to speak to snakes, it’d have boosted him straight up there.

Of course, Nagini disagreed and called him stupid.

Speaking of Nagini, if he listened towards the trunk, which sat at his feet, he could hear said snake cursing the confinement of the thing and hissing out a few words that he didn’t even understand. He assumed this would be as good time as any and smirked. “Oh merlin, I forgot,” he said, nudging open his trunk with his foot and watched as Nagini’s head popped out.

Nagini glanced around the room, looking at the humans and the humans that were flat and slithered onto Harry. “ **Finally, freedom** ,” she hissed in mock excitement. “ **Why are these humans looking at me like I’m a threat? You know what, I’ll show them a threat**.”

It took all of Harry’s will power to not laugh at what Nagini had said, because it was true. “After what happened this summer, Nagini has refused to leave me alone for less than five minutes,” he said, his tone firm. “As you’re aware, we’re bonded and I assume she felt or sensed what happened to me and thus her life is tied to mine and when I die, she dies.”

“I wasn’t aware that a bonding worked like that,” said Dumbledore, leaning in. “I have known plenty of people who have bonded with animals and when they passed on the bond simply broke.”

‘That’s because no one can ask their bonded animal what happens,’ thought Harry darkly. “The bonded animal will die, if not instantly, later on due to sadness and loss.”

“And what if it’s reversed?”

“ **The bond will be severed before we die, allowing you to live** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **Only we can severe the bond, you cannot**.”

“The bond between animal and human will be severed,” said Harry. “It’s done like that so that the human may life, as gratitude for sharing their lifetime with the animal. No animal can live beyond one hundred unless they’re bonded to a wizard, who have an average of one hundred and fifty, allowing most animals to live almost ten times their average lifespan.”

“I see, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, sitting back with a thoughtful expression on his face. “While I would love to get into this sort of debate, it’s highly impractical at our current time as we have some sort of schedule to follow.”

Harry frowned and followed the headmaster’s wary gaze towards Nagini. He did notice that the headmaster looked as if the snake would attack him at any moment. “Nagini wouldn’t dare hurt anyone,” he said, not noticing the odd look on the headmaster’s face when he had mentioned Nagini’s name. “In the six years that I have had her, she hasn’t not once ever bitten someone or hurt anyone. She is allowed to slither around home without any sort of supervision and generally does fine. Mother can attest to this.”

Lily sat quietly and when she heard being addressed she was slightly startled. She said nothing, but nodded along with her son, knowing that the giant snake, at least compared to most, was secure with Harry and would never harm him. She was grateful that James hadn’t attended this particular meeting as she was certain that he would have had a few words to say about this.

Dumbledore once again slipped a sherbet lemon between his lips and made a sound that sounded familiarly like a hum. “You’re aware that we only allow an Owl, Cat, or Toad, correct?”

“Why was Weasley allowed to bring a filthy rodent last year then?” said Harry instantly. “A common garden rat he found in his garden, how disgusting.”

Lily screwed up her face at the thought of having a rat as a pet. She was thankful that Nagini ate them and none appeared around her house or yard in fear of the large snake.

“And don’t forget that Gryffindor boy, Lee Jordan, who had a tarantula last year!” continued Harry. “Spiders are just as lethal as snakes. At least you can spot a snake easily, a spider could be on the walls or roof.”

“You make a valid point, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, his signature grandfatherly smile firmly in place. “A snake has never been allowed by any previous headmaster, it’s all in _Hogwarts: A History_ , if you need to touch up on the recent pets allowed. However, as I did with Lee Jordon, I’ll give you a chance to allow the animal on the school grounds, all you need to do is prove to me that you can control the pet and it’ll be allowed to remain, if not, then it’ll have go.”

Harry nodded and let a very small smile grace his lips a she stood up. He and Nagini had planned this days ago. They had ran by various situations and planned for each of them to the best of their abilities.

He swiftly removed his wand from his left forearm and muttered an incantation and watched as a rat appeared from nowhere in the center of the room. He stifled his laugh when he heard his mother make a disgusted sound and lift her legs from the floor. “Don’t eat it, Nagini,” he said firmly, making sure not to speak in Parseltongue, despite the temptation to do so in Nagini’s natural language.

Nagini lowered her head and placed it on her youngling’s knee. She hit him across the side of his body with her tail and let out a satisfied hiss.

Harry glanced towards the headmaster and noted the small amount of disbelief on the headmaster’s face. It made him feel good, great even. “Well done, Nagini,” he said, vanishing the rat.

“ **You better feed more hundreds of rats for this, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **And not those thin, underfed rats. I want juicy rats**.”

Harry fought to not roll his eyes at Nagini. “See, _sir_ , she listens to me and would never harm another student.”

* * *

Harry sat on the end of his bed in the second-year boys’ dormitory, his trunk was at the foot of his bed and Nagini spread out across the entire length, allowing him only a few spare inches of room to shift around on. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but the room was somewhat different compared to last year, he just couldn’t explain what about it was different as it appeared so similar.

He had chosen a bed near the large window that was submerged in green tinged water, splashing against the glass harshly, as if it would break at any instant.

He counted down the time until the Welcoming Feast ended, not wanting to move into the room late and creating a scene at the very start of the year.

“There you are, Mr. Potter.”

Harry glanced up at the familiar voice, breaking his own reverie about the room and how it appeared to be different yet look the exact same as it did last year, besides the two person rooms, instead now it was a slightly squared room, shared by all the boys.

“Come on,” said Professor Snape in his usual drawl. “I have lost all my patience dealing with idiotic Gryffindors and flying cars.”

Harry didn’t dare ask and followed on silently, aware that Nagini had chosen to follow him.

“No one move a muscle,” snapped Professor Snape instantly, noticing a seventh-year trying to sneak away from the group. “Now that everyone is in attendance, there’s a few rules to gloss over for the new first-years.”

Harry listened to the rules about as much as he did last year, so not at all. His mask of indifference was in complete control as he just stood there and nodded along with everyone else. He was foolish to believe that he would get away with it, especially when he was asked a question and just nodded to it. “What?” he sneered out before he composed himself. “I didn’t hear your question.”

“Mr. Potter,” said Professor Snape, his dark eyes narrowing on the boy. “Seeing as you clearly didn’t listen last year and I mistook your lack of consideration as a sign of your jubilation at being able to learn something, I realised now that I was wrong. I know what I’m saying is going into your head, you just don’t accept it.”

Harry gave a hand gesture that should have explained his lack of care, but it didn’t. “I simply do not care and I refuse to live by some jejune guidelines.”

“Have you been reading a dictionary, Mr. Potter?” said Professor Snape. “I see that your vocabulary is expanding.”

Harry just glared.

“The guidelines, as you so aptly put them, are not _jejune_ ,” said Professor Snape. “They are there to make sure that everyone follows them and has an easy experience in the house of the snakes.”

“Such as baring any relations between other houses,” said Harry, feeling annoyed at being confronted in front of everyone. “Not that I care, but when it’s wrong to associate with other students because they’re in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, it becomes tedious and stupid.”

“If you’re trying to make a point, Mr. Potter, make it quickly, as I have things to discuss.”

“It’s not very cunning for us to ignore three quarters of the school simply because they’re apparently beneath us,” said Harry, the argument had been in his head since making the study group with the Hufflepuffs students. “Following a basic guideline to help enhance our stay in Slytherin is stupid and highly obsolete. Don’t get caught, which is the most emphasised one, is such common sense that I’m amazed anyone listens to this drivel that are called guidelines.”

The crowd of students remained silent, despite what their thoughts on the subject were. Some agreed and others held the ancient traditions to heart.

“But the traditions that date back to Salazar’s time!” said a girl, standing off to the side. “We cannot just turn our backs on them!”

“I doubt that,” said Harry. “Salazar created the school alongside Godric, Rowena and Helga. I’m certain that if he hadn’t wanted to communicate with those other three he would have never created a school with them.”

“But –”

“I know what history says,” said Harry, interrupting the girl. “It says that Salazar was a dark, evil man who couldn’t get his own way with allowing Muggleborn students into the school and left in a hissy fit when Godric Gryffindor disagreed with him.”

“Summed it up nicely,” said Professor Snape.

“You’re telling me that he did nothing else to stop Muggleborn students from attending? Salazar was more powerful than Godric and Rowena combined, knew more curses and spells and had so much theory that could put even the smartest Ravenclaw to shame. He didn’t leave because he was told no like a child, nor did he leave because of any other nefarious reasons.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because I have some common sense and think logically,” said Harry, dismissing the boy. “Continue, Professor Snape, I’ll simply ignore it like I did last year.”

“Right,” said Professor Snape before he continued on his explanation of the Slytherin guidelines.

Despite what he had said, Harry did listen to the welcoming speech, especially now that he knew that he had caused people to actually think, a rare trait in the current world. He wondered where half of this came from and he’d have to ask Nagini later about the validity of most of these arguments.

A girl off to the side screamed, apparently only just seeing the rather large snake slithering around the floor.

“ **Must you make that screeching sound**?” hissed Nagini, moving towards Harry.

“Must you scare people?” asked Harry, shaking his head at the snake, who flicked out its tongue.

“ **That person almost stepped on me, what was I to do**?”

“This is Nagini,” said Harry to the crowd of students, some more fearful looking than others. “She’s relatively harmless and she’s mine.”

“Relatively?” said the girl that screamed. “She’s like… three times your size.”

“No she isn’t, she’s only just bigger than me,” said Harry, unaware that the snake had grown so much in the six years that he had her. “I must warn you that she’s incredibly fast, highly venomous and slightly immune to spells, such as the Banishing Curse, so don’t get any ideas about vanishing her as it’ll rebound and you may find yourself in the jungle.”

“How is she immune to spells?” said a boy off to the side, taking a fearful step backwards.

“Because she’s mine and I’m a genius,” said Harry. “Do you think I wouldn’t add protections to her? Especially if she was coming to Hogwarts with me.”

“How fast is it?”

Harry conjured a rat near the entrance towards the boy’s dormitories and watched in amusement as Nagini lunged across the room. “That fast,” he said a she walked towards the staircase. “Threatening a snake isn’t a wise course, as they can sense the fact that you appear threatening and attack on instinct.”

“ **This rat isn’t as fat as it should be, youngling, you owe me five more just for that**.”

“Did you see how fast that snake moved?”

“I wonder how venomous it really is!”

“Her venom will stop the wounds from closing,” said Harry calmly, as if it were common knowledge. “The only way to treat the wound is for the antivenin to be applied directly onto the bite and pray that you weren’t late, else you’d be dead in the blink of an eye and that’s assuming she doesn’t want you to suffer.”

“Fascinating,” said Professor Snape, looking as if he wished to inspect the snake. He knew that Harry had a snake, but not how unique it was.

“None of you will have to worry about her, unless you share a dormitory with me.”

“ **This is exhausting, youngling, can we go yet**?” hissed Nagini and lifted her head towards the door which she had just left. “ **I can smell a cat, can I eat it**.”

“You don’t need to worry about your pets, she won’t touch them, he knows better than that. Now excuse me, but I need to sleep.”

“I have to sleep with a giant, venomous snake?” asked Theodore. “This year will be highly fun.”

Draco snorted and began walking to the second-year boys’ dormitory with Theo, Rosier and Blaise. “You don’t need to panic about Harry’s snake, she’s as harmless as a kitten, honestly.”

“A kitten, really, Draco?” repeated Theodore with a sigh. “I highly doubt that a snake is anything like a kitten.”

Harry just snorted and shook his head, he kept stroking Nagini’s head until he realised that all the other boys had chosen a bed and were now sitting on them with a calm expression. He jerked up with a shocked facial expression. “We no longer have a sofa in our dormitory!”

“That’s the only thing that you noticed was missing? The fireplace is also gone, instead we have thicker warming charms and some kind of furnace,” said Draco. “You were obviously in here before all of us and you only just realized. Merlin.”

“Shut up, git,” snapped Harry, his eyes swimming with excitement. “I clearly didn’t come in here and observe the interior décor of the room, unlike some.”

“Right,” said Draco, his voice laced with sarcasm. “So mister we no longer have a sofa in our dormitory accused me of being the interior decorator.”

Theodore groaned and lobbed a pillow across the room. “I almost missed being at school, then I realized that I would have to put up with your bickering!” he said in an almost strained tone. “Salazar aid me, please.”

“Oh clam down, Teddy-Bear, you’re far too tense for the first day of the school year, just relax,” said Harry in a sweet tone of voice.

“Teddy-Bear?” repeated Theodore, sitting up straighter, a scowl appearing on his face.


	10. A Hands-On Experience

Chapter 10 – **A Hands-On Experience**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 25/April/2016_

* * *

The early dawn sunlight burst through the floor-to-ceiling window that was in the center of the second-year boys’ dormitory, emitting a soft glow that made the cold dungeon floors heat slightly with the greenish tinged light that pushed through. More than half of the boys in the room groaned and yanked their quilt cover upwards and covering their necks, not yet ready to start the day.

Harry joined in the with the groans and cursed the fact that his body was always alert and never allowed him to sleep in, even if he had only got three hours of sleep, he would be up straight at dawn.

This wasn’t the first time that he had cursed his body’s internal clock and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Rubbing his face, he slowly got up from his warm bed and silently began to shift around in his trunk, hoping to find his school clothes quickly so that he could have a twenty minute shower without getting annoyed by anyone else.

After a long and relaxing shower, which made him more tired than awake, he stepped out and noticed Draco digging around on his trunk, his arm full of books. He shook his head and sat down on the foot on his bed, shaking his head as Draco grunted, almost dropping the books.

“There you are!” whispered Draco, his tone conveying the excitement in his voice. “I still have your books… as you can see, not damaged at all.”

“I’m still not happy you broke that book in Flourish and Blotts, Draco,” said Harry as he took the books from his friend’s arms and dumped them on his bed. “Channel your inner destructiveness on something else besides books.”

Draco rolled his eyes and twirled the little black book in his hands. “I still have your little black book, Potter,” he said in a taunting tone, his facial expression showed the hidden mirth. “Making a diary are you?”

“You caught me out,” said Harry with a slight head nod. “It’s my diary, one where I’ll write my deepest desires of my heart, mainly revolving around a certain blond-haired boy. The same blond-haired boy who always grates my nerves and is a prat.”

“What?”

“Just hand it over, you git.”

Draco handed over the book with an eyebrow raised and a curious look plastered over his face. He watched in confusion as his friend smiled at the book and then gently pushed it into his robe pocket. A quill followed the diary soon after, most likely self-inking. “We have Defence Against the Dark Arts today, Harry.”

“Do we?” asked Harry sceptically. “How do you even know that? We don’t even have our timetables yet.”

“Because Professor Snape told us shortly after we arrived and said to be on our best behaviour,” said Draco. “Regardless, I’m sure you’ll just love the new professor.”

Someone in the room snorted, not that Harry or Draco gave the snort any attention at all.

Harry assumed the snort belonged to Theodore and he sent the closed curtained bed a slight glance. “Who’s our new professor?” he asked calmly, wanting answers and not for his friend to withhold information. “I assume that it’ll be a single witch, in her forties, who idolises Lockhart.”

Draco pursed his lips and bit his cheek to not laugh. “Let’s just say that Quirrell will be better than the professor this year.”

“Quirrell wasn’t _that_ bad,” said Harry, his eyes narrowed at Draco. “Once you got over the stutter, he was an extremely knowledgeable professor.”

“Right,” said Theodore and Draco at the same time. The former had just pushed open his curtains and joined Draco and Harry in the middle of the dormitory. “Almost every single Slytherin knows that Professor Quirrell gave you extra lessons, as well as openly praised you in _everything_ you did.”

“Not only that,” continued Draco. “But Quirrell taught you spells and theory that most people wouldn’t learn until their fifth-year.”

“He obviously recognised the fact that I have talent.”

“Let’s not forget that our little Harry received the best mark in Defence Against the Dark Arts in the entire school,” said Rosier, just getting up. “We’re not the only people who noticed it.”

“He was highly bias towards you, Harry,” said Theodore, nodding along to what Rosier had said. “Even the seventh-years agreed that he was openly favouring you with points, even if he was considered to be a Ravenclaw, he showed open bias towards you and Slytherin.”

“If that’s what you wish to believe, Teddy Bear,” mocked Harry, smirking.

“Would you stop calling me that nickname?” replied Theodore, wincing. He had only been called ‘Teddy Bear’ twice now and he absolutely hated it. He glared at Harry and sent him a silent vow that if anyone else started using it, retribution would be due.

“Stop calling you what, Teddy Bear?” asked Harry, his smirk still firmly in place. His tone was emotionless and his face blank, it remained that way when Theodore huffed and threw down something and left the room, making his way towards the bathroom. “Don’t look so smug, Rosie, I’ll get everyone in the dormitory a new nickname. Two down, four to go.”

* * *

The morning hours seemed to go by at an almost eerie pace, as if someone had purposely sped up time and before half the students knew that had hit them, their sleep was over and they were bordering on late for breakfast. The Slytherin house was just behind the Hufflepuffs as they large clump of students tiredly made their way towards the Great Hall, hoping for a breakfast that’d fully wake them up and allow them a few moments of rest before the lessons began.

Harry entered the Great Hall, noticing that the Ravenclaws were already seated and waiting for food, and instantly the smell of kippers, tureens of porridge, toast, eggs and bacon filled his nose. The ceiling was rather dull and cloudy, which raised no one’s mood. He slumped down onto the Slytherin table and pulled a glass of cold milk towards himself, along with a plate and piled eggs onto it, as well as some bacon.

Idle discussion began as the hordes of students devoured the food that had been on the tables. The Gryffindor house finally made their appearance, fifteen minutes after breakfast officially started, all looking like they had just crawled out of bed.

“The post should be here any moment,” said Blaise, mainly to himself. He copied Harry’s actions of piling food onto his plate and then turned to the very same boy in question. “I’m expecting a letter from mother,” he said between mouthfuls of food. “She always writes to me on the first day of school.”

Harry wasn’t expecting any sort of letters, even if he would have loved to read a letter from his mother in the morning, but he had seen her yesterday and seemed rather pointless. He heard the familiar rushing sound that started as one hundred or so owls flew above the four tables in the Great Hall, dropping various sized packages onto the students sitting below. He glanced upwards once more, hearing the fluttering somewhat cease and saw a few stray letters slowly falling towards the tables as the owls vanished from the room, clearly unbothered by the fact that they didn’t deliver the letter properly.

For a brief moment, he was glad that he was able to convince Nagini to remain in the dormitory today. She had said once before that she often enjoyed eating owls.

“Salazar!” said Draco, tucking away his letter and looking at the table as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Harry didn’t comment on Draco’s obvious actions and refused to state that if he remained quiet, no one would be sending him curious glances. His gaze landed on the rowdy table known as the Gryffindor table and watched in amusement at what he was watching. A big, lumpy parcel bounced off Longbottom’s head, and a second later, something large and grey fell into Granger’s jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

“ERROL!” shouted Ron in an embarrassed tone, his neck was tinged red. He pulled the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak. “Oh no!” he gasped, staring at the red envelope.

Harry had turned back to face the table when he had heard the shaky ‘oh no’ that came out of Weasley’s mouth. His eyes locked on the bright red envelope and he waited. He was aware that Draco was talking to him, but he just waved him off and gestured slightly towards Weasley, knowing that Draco would eventually get the point and follow his gaze towards where future drama was going to happen.

“Wonder what he did,” said Draco, listening to Granger mutter about the owl and it being alive and that it would be alright, unaware that her best friend had just received a howler.

“It’s not that – it’s _that_!” screeched Ron, pointing at the red envelope.

Hermione huffed, her mind set on telling her friend to stop being so dramatic. She however, stopped that train of thought when she realised the entire room was silent. She sent the ordinary red envelope a curious glance, wondering on what it was. “What’s the matter?” she asked, sending Neville and Ron curious glances, hoping one of them would answer her unasked question.

“She’s – she’s sent me a – a Howler!” squeaked out Ron, his voice breaking in various points in his speech, his eyes boring at the red envelope.

“You’d better open it, Ron,” said a girl off to the side. “It’ll just be worse if you wait. I’ve gotten one from my sister once and I ignored it and it was horrible.”

Hermione huffed and looked between them with a scowl on her face. “What’s a Howler?” she asked, not enjoying the fact that she had no knowledge on what this so-called red envelope was and how it caused everyone to be wary of it. She was about to scold Ron for ignoring her questions and paused when she noticed the envelope was smoking at the corners.

“Just open it,” urged Neville quietly. “It’ll just open by itself in a few moments and it’ll be three times as bad!”

Ron slowly stretched out his shaking arm and clenched the steaming red envelope from Errol’s beak and slit open the letter, ignoring the fact that the people nearest to him, mainly the twins, were stuffing their hands over their ears, but leaving enough room that they could hear what was said. The moment his finger broke the seal on the envelope his name was screeched, he threw down the letter onto the table. “Bloody hell!”

“STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE…” Mrs. Weasley’s yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the Hall were swivelling around to see who had received the Howler and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen. “… LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND NEVILLE COULD BOTH HAVE DIED… ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”

The silence in the Great Hall was delicate and soon broken by snickering, mainly from first-year students or those that had never heard of a Howler before. The letter had burst into flames shortly after the message was completed, slowly curling into ashes in the process.

Ron and Neville sat there completely stunned, either of them refused to move their heads at the sheer force of the yelling that the Howler provided. The snickers turned into laughter, while it dispersed from every other table, it continued at the Slytherin table, as well as mocking.

Hermione frowned, her ears still rang, being a meter away from the screaming did her ears no good. “Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you –”

“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snapped Ron, his voice shook with embarrassment.

“Hear that, Weasley? If you put another toe out of line, your mummy will be straight here and will take you back to your shack,” mocked Harry, going as far to repeat the quotes with a poor imitation of Weasley’s mother. He was aware that Weasley went from red with embarrassment to red with anger. “Honestly, dying from shame? I’m amazed that your parents haven’t already died from shame because of that shack you lot live in.”

“Shut up, Potter,” shouted Ron, his voice travelled across the Great Hall, echoing off each wall as if it was a stray spell.

The Great Hall silenced instantly, discussions just dropped as everyone tuned into the upcoming drama, knowing that something would happen. A few soft whispered bets were placed on the outcome of this confrontation.

“Careful Weasley, another toe!”

“At least my mum would come and get me if she had to,” said Ron, his voice triumphant. “Last I heard, you were dumped somewhere for most of the summer.”

“Your point?” said Harry, ignoring the fact that Neville was hitting Ron in the side, most likely trying to make him shut up. “Even if I was dumped, as you so aptly put it, I learned a lot in the process, so it’s a win/win for me.”

“You do know that your parents spent the summer at my house, right?” said Ron, his eyes narrowed.

“Ron!” whispered Neville. “You weren’t meant to say anything.”

If it wasn’t for Draco holding him down from standing up, Harry would have stood up in an instant and threw the first spell on the tip of his tongue at the idiotic red-head, who deserved to be cursed to the stone ages and back. He began a mental mantra of calming methods, not wanting to do something as foolish as losing his edge and cursing Weasley in front of all these witnesses.

In the end, he settled for just glaring at Weasley and eating his food, letting anyone who looked that it would be resolved later.

Professor Snape observed the confrontation and decided to allow it to continue, much like every other professor. If he got involved it’d only cause the two to glare at him and then he’d be the bad guy, not that he cared. Of course, Weasley had to just take low jabs and make up things that would make Harry angry and cause him to retaliate. He knew from experience that Harry was powerful, but he ended up becoming relentless when angry, his attacks became ruthless and precise, unlike some who got sloppy when angry, Harry got better.

Sighing, he got up from his spot at the table and made his way down towards the students handing out their timetables with an easy sweep with his hand. He wanted Harry to calm down before he cursed Weasley and knowing his luck, it’d be Dark Arts that Harry used, due to the fact he branch of magic came more easily when annoyed or angry. “Mr. Potter,” he said smoothly, the timetable floated from his hands and towards the boy. “Do stop tormenting those beneath you and take your timetable.”

Harry glared and angrily took his timetable, wondering what he had first. He realised that he had Herbology first up with the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws. It was odd, as there had never been a single class with all houses in it at once.

* * *

Professor Sprout stood in the centre of the room, a trestle bench was just behind her. Around forty pairs of different-coloured earmuffs were lying on the bench, just to the right of the room. “We’ll be re-potting Mandrakes today,” she said easily, addressing the large mass of students. “Now, who can tell me what the properties of the Mandrake are?”

Neville’s hand shot up in the air, alongside Hermione’s. Before the professor could tell either of them to speak, Hermione was already speaking. “Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed, to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor, but I’m taking five for speaking out of term, Miss. Granger,” said Professor Sprout, a smile on her face. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

Hermione’s hand shot up once again, colliding with Ron Weasley’s head in the process, which caused laughter to echo throughout the greenhouse. “The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it.”

“Precisely, Miss. Granger,” said Professor Sprout with a smile. “Take another ten points for Gryffindor. Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”

Harry, like everyone else, stepped forwards the get a better look at what was inside the deep trays just in front of the professor. He glanced in and saw a hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, were growing there in rows.

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” said Professor Sprout, pointing towards the line of colourful earmuffs. She watched as the students scrambled around the table trying to seize a pair that weren’t pink or fluffy. “When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered. When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up,” she said, demonstrating the action. “Right – earmuffs on.”

Harry managed to seize a pair of green earmuffs and he easily snapped them over his ears. He soon realised that he couldn’t hear anything, that’s how good the earmuffs were. He watched as the professor put her fluffy pink earmuffs on and then roll up her sleeves. He quickly pulled put his wand and aimed it at Weasley’s backside. Whispering the incantation for the Stinging Curse, which he sent directly at Weasley who yelped, not that he could hear it, and jumped up, slamming his knee into the table, causing various tools to rattle. He sent another two before he tucked his wand away and glanced up at Professor Sprout, who had just put her thumb up.

“Mr. Weasley,” snapped Professor Sprout, her eyes narrowed and her tone unlike her usual tone. “Are you finished interrupting the classroom?”

“Yes, professor,” said Ron, not even bothering to mention that fact that Potter had cursed him. “I’m sorry.”

“Twenty points from Gryffindor from disturbing the class,” said Professor Sprout, placing her pink earmuffs on the table and began to continue her lecture. “As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet. However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.”

The students instantly began to talk to their friends, hoping to pair with their friends.

“I almost forgot,” said Professor Sprout, cause all the students to pause. “Four people to a tray, one person from each house. There is a large supply of pots here – compost in the sacks over there – and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

Harry sighed and glanced at Draco, who looked as equally put out. He was joined by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy, who smiled at him calmly and then held out his hand. “I’m Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

Harry gave him a forced smile and shook his hand. “Harry Potter.”

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he?” said Justin, noticing the fact that the Slytherin boy had one of his books in his bag. “Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I’d have died of fear if I’d been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and – zap – just fantastic.”

The two of them were joined by a shy looking Ravenclaw girl and a Gryffindor girl that appeared to be more interested in her hair rather than the lesson.

“My name was down for Eton, you know, I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family.”

Harry wondered why this boy was continuously talking to him. “Yes, Lockhart truly is something,” he said, sending the boy a smile as he clasped his earmuffs over his head, blocking the boy’s voice from entering his head.

After that, they didn’t really have much of a chance to speak as the small group started the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. They traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Slytherins hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work, which Harry always enjoyed the challenge that her classes provided. He sat down on the Slytherin side and watched as the Gryffindors slowly filled the room. He listened eagerly to what Professor McGonagall was saying and couldn’t wait to try the spell, he hadn’t done this one yet, the time they were meant to try, the lesson between him and Professor McGonagall was cancelled.

Harry didn’t get the change the first time, nor did he get it the second, third, fourth or fifth times, but each time he made progress. Each time Professor McGonagall had praised him for his attempts. It was great, making progress with each attempt. He eventually got the beetle to turn into a perfect button. After doing this and getting ten points for his house, he began to experiment and change the button into a different colour. He glanced over at the Gryffindors and watched as a few of them had some issues.

The lunch bell soon sounded, putting an end to the intense Transfiguration lesson. Harry stood, as gracefully a she could, and tugged Draco out of the room with him, noting that Rosier was trailing along behind them with his head in a book. “Two lessons in a row with the Gryffindors on a Monday,” he complained as he walked around the corner. “I know that I’m going to hate Mondays.”

“At least the last lesson is Defence Against the Dark Arts,” said Rosier, walking into the back of Draco, not realising they had stopped. “With the Gryffindors, I assume.”

Harry sat on the stone bench in the courtyard, despite the lunch bell ringing, there was still twenty minutes until lunch actually started. “They put us with the Gryffindors because if we were with anyone else, we’d be far too advanced for the other houses to keep up,” he said, looking down the courtyard and seeing the ditsy girl that was in his Herbology group belittling Granger. “So, who is our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? I haven’t seen him or her anywhere around the school and my timetable doesn’t say his name, as usual.”

Draco snorted and sent Rosier a look, vowing him to keep his silence.

“You know, I don’t care,” said Harry. “You’re both prats.”

Rosier made a humming sound and lifted up his book. “Something is going on over there,” he said, pointing towards the crowding group of Gryffindors. “Perhaps a fight is going on.”

“All right, Neville? I’m – I’m Colin Creevey,” said Colin breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. “I’m in Gryffindor, too. D’you think – would it be all right if – can I have a picture?”

“A picture?” asked Neville, looking at the small boy was he raised his camera hopefully.

“So I can prove I’ve met you…” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forwards. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead.”

“Uh – um –”

“And a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures will move,” said Colin, interrupting Neville. He drew a great shuddering breath of excitement. “It’s brilliant here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you – maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”

“Signed photos?” said Draco as he quickly stood up and dragged Harry with him towards the small circle of students. “That’s all I need to hear.”

Harry sighed and gave Rosier a look and the two followed the blond boy silently.

“You’re giving out signed photos, Longbottom?” asked Draco, sneering. He shoved his way passed a few students and stopped directly behind a boy who was holding a camera. “Everyone queue up!” he roared to the crowd, gaining any attention that wasn’t already on the small group. “Neville Longbottom’s giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not!” said Neville instantly, his fists clenched at his side. “Shut up, Malfoy!”

“You’re just jealous!” said Colin, his camera hadn’t dropped from the position of taking the photo.

“Jealous?” repeated Draco, looking at the boy with disdain. He didn’t exactly need to shout anymore, the entire courtyard was listening in. “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar across my head, thank you. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”

“Go and eat slugs, Malfoy,” said Ron angrily.

“Be careful, Weasley. You don’t want to start any trouble or your mummy will have to come and take you away from school,” sneered Draco and then stood a little straighter, he then spoke in a highly ear-piercing voice. “If you put another toe out of line –” he paused while knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this. “Weasley would like a signed photo, Longbottom. It’d be worth more than his family’s whole house.”

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione stood by his side and sized his arm and whispered for him to look out.

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” asked Gilderoy Lockhart as he strode towards the small group of children, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”

Harry stood in silence, his mind working as fast possible. Was Gilderoy Lockhart their Defence Against Dark Arts professor? He was nudged Draco moments later and he turned to look at him curiously. “What?”

“You’re staring, stop it,” hissed Draco under his breath. “I know your idol is here, but Salazar, don’t get star struck.”

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” muttered Lockhart, beaming at Colin. “A double portrait, can’t say fairer than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signalling the start of afternoon classes.

* * *

Harry sat next to Draco, at the back of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, his chair propped up against the wall and he swung on it, leaning on the two hind legs of the chair. He was highly excited to know that he was being taught by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, or Professor Lockhart, as he should be called now.

“Father would be displeased if you did that at home,” said Draco, watching Harry lean against the wall, the chair creaking as if severe pressure was put on it. “You’ll break the legs!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Harry, waving Draco off. He stopped and glared at Weasley and Longbottom, who were talking rather loudly, holding up the class as usual.

Professor Lockhart appeared from nowhere and was suddenly in the middle of the room, near a cage covered in a silky blue cloth. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom’s copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front. “Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

A few of the class let out nervous chuckles and others just smiled, swooning.

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books – well done,” continued Professor Lockhart. “I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about – just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in.”

A quiz on the first day? Amazing. Harry was all for this, the man was a genius.

Professor Lockhart began to walk around the room and handed out the papers. He returned to the front of the class and smiled. “You have thirty minutes. Start – now!”

Harry picked up the paper, ignoring the snort from Draco next to him and began to read the first few questions. He looked down at his paper and read:

  1. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favourite colour?_
  2. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?_
  3. _What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?_



On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

  1. _When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_



Harry frowned, and dipped his quill in his ink. ‘What the hell is this garbage?’ he thought, his opinion of the man never wavering. Gilderoy Lockhart was a genius, a prodigy and he knew that this was a test, to see if people had actually read the books. Shaking his head in awe at his own revelation into the professor’s genius plan, he set out on answering all fifty-four questions correctly.

Twenty minutes later Harry had handed up his quiz and sat back down, noting that Granger finished hers mere minutes after he did. It was far too close for his comfort, how dare she try and show him up in front of Lockhart? He sent her a scowl and focused back on his books.

“Tut, tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in Year with a Yeti,” said Professor Lockhart, reading though the quizzes in front of the class. “And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

Gilderoy Lockhart gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention, and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

Harry nudged Draco when he snorted.

“But, there was one outstanding student that remembered my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good boy! In fact,” said Professor Lockhart, pausing for dramatic effect as he turned over the paper. “Full marks! Where is Mr. Potter?”

Harry smirked at Draco and lifted his hand.

“Excellent!” beamed Professor Lockhart. “Quite excellent! Take ten points for Slytherin! And so, to business…”

“This class is a joke, did you even read that quiz?” muttered Draco softly to Harry. “This guy is more vain than mother.”

“If you’re talented you can be a little vain, Draco,” said Harry, glaring at his friend. He glanced up and sighed when he realised that Lockhart looked like he wanted to murder him.

“Mr. Potter,” said Professor Lockhart, his tone still jubilant, but it had something else under it. “Seeing as you appear to think that your conversation is far more important than what I’m saying, would you care to educate the class on what’s in the cage?”

“Cornish Pixies,” said Harry instantly, not even looking up towards the cage. He had heard the man, he was just talking to Draco. He was, as you could put it, constantly aware of his surroundings.

“Oh,” said Professor Lockhart. “I was expecting a more in-depth answer.”

“Were you?” said Harry slowly. “Then I must apologise, professor. Shall I continue the answer?”

“Yes,” said Professor Lockhart, tapping the cage with his wand, causing the blue cloth to fall off and reveal the creatures. “If you don’t know the answers, that’s quite alright.”

Harry studied the cage, his eyes narrowed. “They’re Cornish Pixies, not very dangerous, just a nuisance. Of course, their Ministry of Magic Classification is XXX, as such, competent wizards should cope with them,” he said in a flat tone. The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. “Dealing with groups of them can be difficult. They won’t really ever harm a human, they’ll just –”

“Right then,” said Professor Lockhart, cutting Harry off. “Let’s see what you make of them then!”

Harry wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or angry that the man had interrupted him and then just released a group of Cornish Pixies, around a group of students.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, upended the waste bin, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the candelabra in the ceiling.

“Come on now, round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies…” shouted Professor Lockhart. He then rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand. “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized Lockhart’s wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the candelabra gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush towards the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Draco, Ron, Neville and Hermione, who were almost out of the door. “Well, I’ll ask you five to just nip the rest of them back into their cage,” he muttered and then swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

“Can you believe him?” roared Ron, as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

“He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” said Hermione, immobilising two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

“Hands on?” repeated Neville, trying to grab back his wand from a nearby pixie, who was dancing holding the wand with its tongue out. “Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.”

“That’s rubbish!” said Hermione in an annoyed tone. “You’ve read his books – look at all those amazing things he’s done –”

“He says he’s done.”

Harry was glad that the idiotic Weasley couldn’t see Lockhart for the genius that he was. What other professor would do something as excellent as this? No one. “Would you two stop having your little lovers spat and actually do something?” he said, glaring at Weasley and Granger. “I swear, I have to do everything.”

“You enjoy it, Harry,” said Draco, hitting a pixie away from his hair with a bat of his hand. “What is your plan to get all this fixed and those Cornish Pixies back into their cage?”

Harry flicked his wand towards the shattered window. “Reparo!” he watched as the glass shards flicked back into place with small clicking sounds. He then turned his wand to the walls and muttered the same spell again, causing the books to all return to their proper slots. “Draco, help me with the candelabra.”

Draco and Harry cast the Mending Charm on the candelabra, it repaired itself rather slowly, but it repaired.

Harry then spun on the spot and flicked his wand in mountain shape. “Immobulus!”

A quick flash of blue had the entire room perfectly still, the three Gryffindors included. Draco was saved by standing directly behind him.

“That was easy,” said Harry, walking towards the door with Draco just behind him.

The spell broke off from Hermione first, she acted and threw the Pixies back into the cage with a few flicks of her wand and removed the spell from Neville and Ron.

“I hate to agree with Potter,” said Ron, unsure of how he should continue on his train of thought. “But when he said that competent wizards should be able to deal with Pixies, I fear that he was right.”

“I know that Harry may be mean and act like a prat all the time, but he is rather talented,” admitted Neville, slipping his wand back into his pocket. “He can cast spells that we won’t cover until our fourth-year.”

“Just because he’s smart and can cast powerful spells doesn’t mean he has to be a git about everything,” said Ron with a huff. “He’s just as bad, if not worse than Malfoy.”


	11. The Little Black Book

Chapter 11 – **The Little Black Book**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 27/April/2016_

* * *

Harry spent the next few days scribbling away in his little black book, which had a slight golden trim on each corner and his name imbedded in a golden font. The book had been a last minute, impulsive purchase that he didn’t regret it. He had purchased it for the sole reason to document his life at Hogwarts and hope preserve his knowledge for the future, so that some may see his work and understand everything with more clarity.

The book also had another purpose, one that most would be confused about. He wanted a book that he could use if he ever created any spells of his own, having recently wanted to learn the subject of spell creation ,even if it was self-taught and not withy an official tutor, who were rare as they all had seemed to be killed off and they remained hidden. There was apparently one at Durmstrang and everyone had to take an oath to not reveal who it was.

He was aware that the little infuriating first-year Gryffindor was following around Longbottom as if he was a lost puppy. It wasn’t even happening to him and it made him sick to his stomach. The only other entertainment was the fact that Weasley’s wand seemed it be behaving oddly, it wasn’t broken, but it appeared to not enjoy spells cast by the boy.

“ **Something is wrong, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini, lifting her head from the floor next to Harry’s bed and staring directly at the boy. “ **Something seems off, something is going to happen. The air is thick**.”

“ **What do you mean, Nagini**?” hissed Harry, very quietly. He gestured for Nagini to join him on his bed. “ **You can scent something wrong**?”

“ **Nothing is wrong, youngling, not at the moment. I have scented this before, I cannot recall where, but I have tasted it before and it is not a pleasant taste** ,” hissed Nagini as quickly as she could. “ **I suggest you stick close to your friends and keep your head down, whatever it is, it isn’t good and you have no business going after it**.”

Harry was about to reply when the door opened and Draco walked in with a goofy smile. “Come on, Harry, you’ll be late if you sit around in bed all day,” he said, yanking Harry upwards, ignoring the hiss from Nagini.

“What’s going on?” asked Harry, scowling at the back of Draco’s head. “Is there a reason for the fact that you’re yanking me all over the Slytherin common room?”

“Perhaps.”

“That’s not a valid answer, Draco,” said Harry, determined to just stop in one place and demand answers. That plan failed almost instantly when he realised that Draco could just drag him around with very little issue. “I’m not some animal that you can just drag around.”

“Hush, Harry,” said Draco, making the typical noise that you made to loud children when they should be quiet. “You’re far too noisy for your own good! We’re trying to be stealthy, I’ll have you know.”

“Your loud shoes are making more noise than I am,” stated Harry, a smug expression on his face.

“We’re not too far away from where we need to be anyway.”

“You know that I would greatly appreciate it if you had told me where I was being dragged to,” said Harry, still displeased. “I don’t particularly enjoy being dragged around the dungeons, as if I’m being kidnapped.”

“Almost there!” said Draco, enthusiasm filled his voice. “Close now – here we are.”

“Really, Draco? I enjoy classes, I’ll admit that, but bringing me to a classroom after all lessons have finished is actually rather insulting. You wound me greatly.”

“Be quiet, you’re creating a scene.”

“ _You_ made the scene!”

“No I didn’t,” said Draco, eyeing the door cautiously.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, you did, when you decided to drag me around the Slytherin common room and down these darkened corridors in the dungeons.”

“Let’s go in,” said Draco, his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t embarrass us.”

“Me? As if.”

“I mean it!”

Harry sighed and muttered under his breath. He sent Draco one last look before he caved and just walked into the dark room, which held no light at all and was deathly silent. He twisted around when he heard the door close and spotted Draco’s bright hair, which made him smirk as it meant this wasn’t a trap or Draco wouldn’t be in here.

Footsteps echoed throughout the room, making him know that someone, or something, was moving around. It was the wizarding world, plenty of things were lurking in the dark, such as the thing that he recently read in a book that feeds from fear, much like a Boggart, but it kills. Thankfully it’s only native to Australia, the land of asinine creatures that can kill in a single bite. Creepy place.

Regardless of his experience with fighting in the dark, his hand was clasped firmly on his wand a she waited for something to happen.

What happened wasn’t what he expected.

The lights flicked on almost instantly, without a word said, and he was face-to-face with none other than Marcus Flint, who let out a laugh the moment the lights came on. “What’s so funny?” he asked, not at all amused with the fact he was laughed at for having a very appropriate reaction. “You lot dragged me into a dark classroom, allowed me to sit here and get anxious and then flick on the lights and assume I won’t be startled?”

Flint ruffled Harry’s hair, ignoring the cries from the boy about his hair, and smirked. “You are by far the best Seeker we’ve ever had,” he said, sticking to one or two syllable words. “At first I couldn’t help but feel as if you were up to something – sabotage. I soon realised that it was an incorrect assumption and that you were as Slytherin as it got and that you wanted to win the House Cup for us.”

“Oh please,” said Adrian, his face blank. “You still, to this day, accuse him of having ulterior motives.”

“We all have ulterior motives, Adrian,” said Terence, shrugging. “But sabotaging our own house team isn’t one of them.”

“Whatever,” said Marcus. “I’m not great with speeches and all that –”

“Understatement of the year.”

“– so don’t take this the wrong way,” continued Marcus, ignoring the interruption. “Thank you for guiding Slytherin to their fifth win in a row, almost a record being broken, just two more years. I would have loved to have you on the team for those two years, I can feel that your heart isn’t set on actually playing Quidditch anymore.”

“Why is that, Potter?”

“Shut up, Miles, I am trying to make a speech!”

“Long story,” said Harry, his tone slightly tense. “A story that I scarcely have the time to explain.”

“Whatever,” muttered Marcus. “What I’m trying to say is that if you ever want to play again, the spot is always open and you’ll remain the reserve Seeker for us.”

The small gathering of Slytherins continued after that long speech, long by Marcus Flint’s standards, and each student eventually came in and ruffled Harry’s hair, as if it was a new tradition. None were put off by the glare that they received from the said boy, instead they made it their goal to make the boy seethe as much as possible.

“Alright,” barked Marcus, the jolly mood vanishing. “Into your Quidditch robes and at the door in fifteen minutes!”

Everyone scattered and picked up their robes that were conveniently hung on a hook on the far wall.

“If you’re ashamed or frightened to get changed as a group, you may get changed in the alcove to my right,” said Marcus starting at Malfoy. “Sooner or later you’ll have to get used to see everyone else naked.”

Oddly enough, a few of the fifth and sixth-years made for the small alcove to get ready, perhaps not wanting to dress and undress in an unused classroom when anyone could walk in and see them starkers.

“Before anyone asks questions,” said Marcus, sliding his robes on in almost record time. “We have training today, as you already know. However, we lost our playmaker in the process – five minutes!”

That was news to Harry, since when did Quidditch teams have playmakers, of all things.

“Come along, Potter, you’re training with us today,” said Terence, lacking any form of clothing at all. “Just because you left the team doesn’t mean you can just ignore us all of a sudden.”

Harry maintained eye contact, not wanting to appear weak. “I could never ignore such an unruly group of people.”

Terence laughed and slapped the smaller boy on the back. “That’s right,” he said, sliding a pair of underwear on. “We’d somehow make you join us each game, even if we had to seize all your books.”

“If it was possible to fly and read,” mused Harry, his eyes travelled downwards and landed on the waistband of Terence’s underwear. “You know, Terence, I always took you for the type to wear pretty little pink flowers.”

“Hm?” inquired Terence. “Oh! Nah, I’m more of a plain type.”

Harry smirked and turned to Marcus, odd how the brutish boy became Marcus in his head and not Flint anymore. “As for your playmaker issue, I can probably assist with that,” he said softly, not wanting to draw any attention and get blamed for holding up the team. “I’m great at strategy.”

Draco snorted from the distance.

“I’ll order in a certain board game later on today and I’ll show you just exactly how great at strategy I can be. I’ll be able to write the plays for you.”

“What’s a board game?” asked Draco, he had finished dressing and was now standing next to Harry in his green Quidditch robes.

Harry muttered under his breath and straightened up, meeting Draco’s eyes. “It’s a Muggle invention, but that could be debated,” he said, noticing a few groaned at the sheer mention of the word Muggle. “I’ll have you know that chess was invented by Muggles.”

Draco pulled Harry aside while the group chatted for the last few minutes and stared at him for a moment. “What do you mean, you’re good at strategy?” he asked in a whisper, his face conveying the confusion that he was feeling. “I know you use Legilimency when you –”

“I knew it,” interrupted Harry, a smirk on his face. “That game! I knew there was something off about that match. The board had a very powerful Confundus Charm on it, which only activated in your time of need. The Confundus Charm had to amplify for it to affect me, hence why it am demy moves so stupid and common, as it knew that I would have won no matter what unless I was entirely sabotaged.”

“What?” said Draco, confused. “That board has been in the Malfoy family for generations!”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “It has and it’s always been used for bets. Your family has a very interesting and shady past.”

Draco stood in silence, his grey eyes scanning Harry’s face any thought of the fact that Harry was making fun of his family. He knew deep-down that his friend wouldn’t dare do such a thing, but Harry was like two different people at times.

“Draco, you needn’t worry about me spilling your family’s deepest, darkest secrets,” said Harry in a soothing tone. “Even if we did have a falling out, I wouldn’t dare disgrace your family name due to the fact that your family is like my own family and I could never forgive myself if I did that.”

“Okay.”

“Regardless, I did use Legilimency on you,” said Harry, unaware that his voice had carried and he just revealed himself as a Legilimens. “I wanted to see if you and Narcissa had actually planned anything regarding the bet, but your head was full of chess moves and different tactics.”

“So you cheated?”

“Please, I tried to shift past them but you kept breaking contact to make your move, putting me back to step one,” said Harry, a thoughtful expression on his head. “Perhaps that’s why the Confundus Charm was so strong as well, it sensed a threat on my end.”

“I don’t understand half the things you’re even saying.”

Harry attempted to explain in simpler words and it had the same result.

Draco still didn’t understand and he realised that his friend was getting agitated. He said that he didn’t understand and held back the smile when Harry stopped explaining and just glared. “Don’t get snappy with me, Potter,” he said, trying not to laugh. “It’s not my fault that your brain is far too large and you use all these complicated phrases and words that I don’t understand!”

“Nothing about Occlumency is complicated,” replied Harry, his annoyance faded and was replaced by a smirk. “But enough about it now. I’ll teach you later on, when your mind has… matured.”

“You do know, Harry, that you’re younger than me by a month?” said Draco, his chin lifted. “I’m vastly more mature than you because of my age.”

Harry couldn’t help but snort at that remark. He smiled at his friend’s antics, knowing that he was actually rather intelligent when he wanted to be, which could easily be put down to his grades. He knew, deep-down, that Draco could be just as smart a shim if he spent time studying and not making contacts for the future at an inconvenient time.

Draco, sensing his friend was in thought, instantly ruffled his friend’s hair and smiled when he was glared at.

“Must you?”

“I must, I admit,” said Draco, a fake smile plastered over his face. He couldn’t stop the laugh that happened when Harry began to try and pat down his hair. “You do know that this is revenge for calling Theodore ‘Teddy Bear’ in public, right?”

“I didn’t call him it in public!”

“Close enough,” said Draco. “Half of Slytherin now call him the nickname and he fumes whenever someone says it.”

“Good!”

“His revenge was tacky, but made sense,” said Draco, eyeing Harry. “You’re now the baby of Slytherin… a little child.”

“I’m twelve!” said Harry, turning towards Draco. “How dare Theodore!”

“Let’s be real, Harry, you’re not growing,” said Draco. “I’m almost an entire head and a half taller than you and let’s not forget the fact you still look like you did years ago.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” said Harry darkly. “Theodore will pay for the embarrassment he has caused me…”

Draco listened to Harry trail off and rant about Theodore, complaining that the boy was due to be put in line for some respect. “Whatever, Harry,” he said, annoyed with the constant muttering. “Keep your petty schoolyard grudges away from me and we’ll be fine.”

“Hmm,” said Harry. “Says the one actively joining in!”

“Hurry up,” said Draco, ignoring the accusation. “You have to watch me practice Quidditch.”

Harry huffed and being bossed around and glared at Draco. He followed along, just behind the Slytherin team, as they walked down the dungeon draughty corridors. He began discussing strategies, which confused everyone, and what the team could attempt during the games, as well as adding various codenames to the plans, that way they couldn’t be discovered by interlopers. He also shared some of the Gryffindor teams’ weaknesses, which sadly, were only a few known ones. They walked in silence until they met the Gryffindor team in the middle of a courtyard.

“I don’t believe it!” said the Gryffindor captain, his tone anything but friendly, and glared at the Slytherin team. “Flint, I booked the pitch for today!”

Marcus ignored the captain of the Gryffindor team and continued to walk onwards.

“Flint!” bellowed the Gryffindor. “This is our practice time! We got it specially! You can clear off now!”

“There’s plenty of room for all of us, Wood,” said Marcus, his eyes narrowed.

“But I booked the pitch today!” spat Wood, his tone was bitter, seething in rage he narrowed his eyes. “I booked it!”

“Ah, but I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape,” said Marcus, pulling out the neatly folded note and began to recite it. “I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Seeker.”

Harry did notice that Marcus had said it with a very, very smug look, which got smugger when the entire Gryffindor team looked absolutely confused.

Wood glanced around before his eyes flicked back to Flint. “You’ve got a new Seeker? Where?”

Draco stepped out from behind the Slytherin team with a highly smug looking facial expression. “I’m the new Seeker.”

Harry couldn’t fathom why everyone was so smug all of a sudden. It was driving him up the wall, as Muggles said.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike. His twin agreed with the statement.

“It’s funny that you should mention Draco’s father,” said Marcus, his smug turning into a very cruel looking smile, which was mimicked by the entire Slytherin team behind him. “Let me show you the generous gift that he’s made to the Slytherin team…”

The seven of them, excluding Harry, held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_ gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the sun.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Marcus carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount.”

“What’s happening?” asked Ron, looking at Neville. “Why aren’t you guys on the pitch yet?”

Silence met Ron’s question.

Ron gave up and turned to face the direction that Neville was looking at in awe. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, staring at Draco Malfoy, who was standing there with a smug expression.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” said Draco smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

“Good, aren’t they?” continued Draco, his eyes locking onto Weasley’s. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them.”

“Well, at least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way onto the team,” said Hermione, her tone sharp. She glared at Malfoy and placed her hands on her hips, as if she was a mother scolding a child. “They all got on the team due to pure talent.”

The smug look on Draco’s face flickered momentarily. He had a retort on the tip of his tongue, ready to put Granger in her place when he felt someone push by him. He wondered why Harry looked like someone had stolen something treasured from him at the simple remark from Granger and he was about to tell his friend to just leave it.

He wasn’t quick enough.

Harry’s presence must’ve shocked the Gryffindor team as they stopped cheering for Granger and they appeared to look a little cowed, not thinking that the boy would actually be there.

“No one asked for your opinion, Granger, you stupid, pathetic, little Mudblood,” hissed Harry, his tone cold, his eyes swirling with the outward anger he was trying to reign in. “Why do you even bother to try and speak to other people, Granger? You’re a failure, a reject that clings to the hope that Longbottom will save you like some damsel in distress. If you got on that train right now and went back to your filthy Muggle house, no one would care, nor would they remember you. You’re nothing but a disgrace! A disgrace of a witch, now get out of my sight before I hex you six feet into the ground, where you rightfully belong.”

Draco honestly felt as if someone had frozen time as no one made a sound, no one moved and no one reacted besides standing still as if they were a statue. First of all, he learned that Harry can be really scary when he’s angry or whatever emotion he felt when Granger opened her mouth. Secondly, he knew that Harry meant every word that he said, because while he may exaggerate at times, no matter what he said, he always done it.

The silence lasted mere seconds before someone erupted at what was said.

“How dare you!” screeched one of the girls on the Gryffindor team.

Harry stood there, emotionless, his hands were clasped in front of him, as if ready to either strike or defend from something.

Marcus had his hands full trying to keep the two nuisance twins from diving on Harry, despite his size, those two were determined to insure that Harry received some sort of retribution for what he had said. He spared Harry a brief glance and realised that the boy wasn’t even bothered at what he had said.

“How dare you!” said Ron, repeating the earlier girl’s choice of words. He reached into his robes and slowly pulled out his wand. While the wand had some Spellotape on it, it wasn’t badly damage and could still somewhat work, this didn’t deter the furious redhead. “You’ll pay for that one, Potter!”

Neville paled slightly, not liking how this event was turning out. “How can you even say something like that, Harry? Your mum is a Muggle-born! She’s also a fantastic witch. Blood proves nothing,” he said, well aware that his speech was ignored and that it was a lost battle the moment that Harry pulled out his wand.

“What do you think you’re doing, Longbottom?” said Harry, his tone blank. “With the way that you’re holding your wand, it looks as if you wish to actually duel me.”

“I don’t want to duel you, Harry,” said Neville, his wand hung loosely at his side.

“Of course not.”

“You used a foul word, Harry, a word that shouldn’t be used or allowed to be said,” said Neville, frowning when he realised that his little speech hadn’t pacified the green-eyed boy. “Listen, Harry, please –”

Harry hissed out a spell that sent Neville flying through the air. He watched as Neville rolled along the ground, his head hitting several places as he rolled and then came to a stop, his robes covered in dirt. “Now, what did you say to Draco a while ago, Weasley?”

Ron remained silent, sending concerned looks towards Neville’s body.

“That’s right!” said Harry bobbing slightly, a façade of cheerfulness appeared over his features. “You told him to go and eat slugs.”

Ron frowned.

“Slugulus Eructo!” hissed Harry, the dark green light slammed straight into Weasley’s chest, it sent him reeling backwards, landing harshly on the grass, before he could even think of dodging the spell. “I guess you’re the one eating slugs.”

Hermione watched as Potter left with the rest of the Slytherin team, his last scathing remark was tossed over his shoulder carelessly. “Ron! Ron! Are you alright?” she asked, even as she looked over and spotted Neville sitting up, swaying slightly as he did. “Please say something!”

Ron opened his mouth, which until now he had kept tightly closed, to speak, but no words had come out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several small looking slugs dribbled out from the corners of his mouth and dropped onto his lap.

“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” suggested Neville, the swaying vanishing as he made his way towards his friend, who was still vomiting slugs. He hoisted Ron by the arms, with Hermione’s help, and began carting him off towards Hagrid’s Hut.

“What happened, Neville? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can’t you?” said Colin in a fast tone, he had spotted them while he was making his way towards the Great Hall, and was now dancing alongside them as they left the courtyard. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front. “Oooh… can you hold him still, Neville?”

“Get out of the way, Colin!” said Neville angrily, the pitch of his voice slightly rose as he said each word. He and Hermione supported Ron out of the courtyard and across the grounds towards the edge of the Forest.

“We’re nearly there, Ron,” said Hermione soothingly, her tone firm and somewhat assuring, as the gamekeeper’s cabin came into view. “You’ll be all right in a minute… almost there.”

Neville and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold, into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in another. Hagrid didn’t seem perturbed by Ron’s slug problem, which Neville hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

“Better out than in…” said Hagrid cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of him. “Get ‘em all up, Ron.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to do except wait for it to stop,” said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. “I’ve read all about the spell, of course, the colour was almost dark green, which meant Potter put a fair amount of power behind the spell, it’ll last a while, I’m afraid…”

Hagrid was bustling around, making them tea. “So tell me what happened?”

Neville sighed, he glanced at Hermione, who was almost once again nearly in tears. “Harry called Hermione something, something awful.”

“Why do you still call him Harry?” muttered Ron hoarsely, emerging over the table top, looking pale and sweaty. “Potter called Hermione a mudblood, Hagrid.”

“He didn’!”

“He did…” said Hermione sadly, her eyes brimming with tears. “But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course…”

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” gasped Ron, his head coming back up from the bucket. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents. It makes very little sense that Potter would dare use the word… when Lily finds out she’s going to go berserk at him, he’ll get a howler for sure.”

Neville glanced at Hermione and frowned, unsure of how to handle the situation.

“He gets it from Malfoy, he spends enough time around the prat that their mannerisms have rubbed off on him,” continued Ron. “Of course, there are some wizards – like Malfoy’s family – who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood.”

“It’s a foul term,” added Neville afterwards. “It’s not something one usually hears in a civilized conversation.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’t do,” said Hagrid proudly, a large smile hit his lips. He handed the girl some tea. “Don’t think on it, Hermione, don’t yeh think on it for a minute.”

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. “Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we would have died out.”

* * *

“Harry!” hissed Draco the moment he and Harry were alone. “What the – what in Salazar’s name was _that_?”

“What was what?”

“That!” repeated Draco. “With Granger! You called her a Mudblood!”

“So?” said Harry, shrugging it off as if it was a common thing. “I don’t care about her or Longbottom. Should could toss herself off the Astronomy Tower for all I care.”

“ _Harry_!”

“She’s lucky all I did was call her a Mudblood,” continued Harry, unaware that his friend had tensed. “She got what she deserved she shouldn’t have stuck her nose in our business. WH yare you so set on defending her?”

“I’m not, you idiot!”

“Clearly,” sneered Harry. “How can you just stand being accused of bribery? How dare that ungrateful –”

“Harry, shut up!”

“– degrade me to being bested by money! As if!”

“I don’t care what she did to you,” said Draco, shutting his friend up. “I don’t care what she said to me. She knows nothing and that’s good enough for me.”

“It’s not good enough for me.”

“Think, in that feeble mind of yours, who else you know is a Muggle-born and will take severe offense to what you just said.”

Harry said nothing for a minute before he dropping in defeat onto an armchair, ignoring Rosier, who cried out about being sat on. “Mother is going to kill me, isn’t she?”

“Most likely,” said Draco. “I’m sure that Longbottom and his cronies will write to her first, just to get you in trouble.”

“Argh!”

“My entire family respects your mother,” said Draco, thinking. “I’m sure my mother will also come down harshly on you, as well as my father.”

Harry sighed, running his hand over his face. “I have no idea, at all, of what came over me. I was fine, Draco, and then all of a sudden I was so angry and the only thing that appeared to aid it was seeing Granger upset.”

Draco frowned, but didn’t push it. “I’m going to finish my homework, do you wish to join me?”

“No, I’m fine,” said Harry quickly. “I have a few letters to write.”

“Okay.”

Harry waited until Draco left with Rosier before he made his way towards the second-year boys’ dormitory and sat at his desk. He carefully opened his black book and wrote the date with a flourish. He sat there for a moment, his quill dripping ink back into the pot. He dipped his quill into the ink pot, once more, and began to write.

_Today… today I learned a very vital lesson, one that may very well stick with me throughout my entire life. I learned that words can cut deeper than the most powerful Cutting Curse ever cast, perhaps even three times more powerful than that. You see, when I was younger, seven, I accidently said what my parents called the ‘m-word’ which translated to Mudblood. Today I broke a silly little promise I made when I was just a little child. I had promised that I would never use the word. I would never use it to insult, only educate. But maybe I didn’t break that promise… no, I know I didn’t break the promise, I simply educated the Mudblood, that’s what I did. She got what she deserved. I have enjoyed slowly tormenting Weasley, every curse that I land on him sends a thrill up my spine, it’s intoxicating, enthralling – I must find more methods to inflict pain to him. I also rather enjoyed hurting Longbottom, it was so easy! How did he defeat Voldemort?_

_Back to the topic at hand, the whole ‘Mudblood’ controversy, of course the Mudblood wept, over a word I’m sure she had no idea what it meant. I felt somewhat bad, not for her, but the fact my own mother was born from Muggles… I don’t dislike Muggles, some are okay… I did read something about a World War, but I shall not touch upon that. I’m sure now Granger will not cross my path, I do hope she took my education, which is about where stands in this world, I do not consider myself to be a half-blood, I consider myself to be as pure as Draco, Lucius or Narcissa. The Potter line is supposedly well-respected, at least until James was born into it… I’m not going to bash him in my own diary, that would be petty of me, but I must admit it feels great to be able to say how I feel and that no one will ever know._

_I highly doubt that mother will do anything to rational, it will be James that acts like his usual self, he’ll whine and moan and then go back to spending all his free time at work and neglecting mother and I in all aspects, he will then stagger in home at night and instantly go to sleep. I should be hurt that I haven’t got a father, but it doesn’t, it feels like a huge chain has been unclamped from my ankle and I can now freely walk around and do whatever I wish. One chain remains, but it’s not metal… it’s silk, and it keeps me grounded. But I fear that losing my mother would ruin me, if she suddenly cared for someone else but me, I fear that I will not be able to control myself, its hard being so angry all the time, like some lunatic is deliberately making me angry and frustrated. But as long as mother remains, I’ll be fine._

_I have a very high suspicion about the headmaster, I fear that he knows something about me, something that I myself have no idea of. He watches me, very carefully, he follows me on occasion also, and that’s disrupting my plans. Something happened and the Hufflepuffs cancelled the study group, they went back with the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws, was my perfect exam results not enough for them? I have a feeling that the headmaster was behind this, a very strong suspicion. I’m not sure what I did to the headmaster, but I have a feeling that he hasn’t liked me since I stepped into this castle, I have no idea why, I tried my very hardest to be the best student I can be, I want to succeed._

_Nagini tells me that something is wrong, that something bad is going to happen and that the air tastes thick, I trust her. She’s not my pet, she’s my friend, my best friend, family, or whatever you want to call her. She’ll always remain at my side. I’ll never forget her for saving my life, I’ll always owe her a debt, a debt that I’ll repay in time. I’m not sure how she even saved me, I didn’t think snakes had healing properties in their venom, maybe it’s because we were bonded and she could heal me using her venom? It’s crazy, but this is the magical world, I’m sure it’d be something like that._

_If Nagini is concerned, then I’m concerned. She has always been right in whatever she has said, whether someone is deceitful, she can pick it up, with that she helped me be able to lie easily without sending off a scent of lying, (it took a lot of time). I am grateful for everything she has done for me._

_Duelling – my style is aggressive, according to Severus, highly aggressive, which he is concerned about. In our last three duels I simply unleashed everything I had on him, curse after curse, but I wasn’t fast enough to take him down… he is simply far too powerful and the fact he has created his own spells? I am jealous. I’ll start soon, I have the book on altering a spell and pulling it into yours. Severus suggested I begin with the tickling hex, as the base it was created with is flexible for any minor torture curses, such as pinching, flicking, light punches etc. it does make perfect sense, however._

_I also would like to try and work with what they call a spell-chain, it hasn’t been done, and I want to try it, it’d be Order of Merlin worthy, and I would like one of those sometime soon, that would be such a huge complimented to my ability in magic, I have an idea on what I can do. Even an Order of Merlin: Second or Third Class would be good enough, I’d accept that with a huge smile. Plus, it would allow me a great steppingstone for a career. Just look at me ramble in my own diary about me wanting an Order of Merlin, somewhat pathetic._

_The books I have on the Dark Arts, which are currently sitting in my trunk, tormenting me with their allure are grating my nerves. I cannot begin to read them if Dumbledore watches me so closely, and now that Severus has taught me some Dark Arts, he’ll instantly pick up on the sign of me studying and learning about them. Sometimes, he’s far too perceptive for his own good. Maybe I’ll leave the books until I learn who this T.M Riddle really is, even more considering that Professor Quirrell was Voldemort! (I still cannot believe that fat lard called Longbottom defeated him… again!)_

_Speaking of Quirrell, I’m still somewhat researching the Philosopher’s Stone, I honestly want Nicolas to teach me how to make the Elixir of Life, and I guess the ability to turn things into gold, having some money would be grand. I may start a steady supply to Muggles and set aside my future for when I turn seventeen. I don’t mind living amongst Muggles, after all, I heard the ancient house of Black was built amongst Muggles, just use spells and such to make sure they stay away._

Harry closed the book after the ink had dried, that was the worst thing about using quills and ink, the waiting for it to dry. He opened and closed his right hand, it was cramping and slowly driving him insane, he hadn’t ever wrote that much in one sitting before, the thoughts just seemed to flow from his mind and landed soundly onto paper. He would have to try and write weekly in his diary, or at least every time something important came up. He had placed a few minor wards and spells on the book, hoping that it would be enough, he would have to look into more powerful spells later on. He tucked the book back into his trunk, under his other books and climbed into bed.

* * *

Harry was woken up sometime during the night by Nagini, who was hissing in his face. He groggily wiped his eyes, keeping them closed as he did so. “ **What is it, Nagini**?”

“ **Youngling, open your eyes**!” hissed Nagini, her tone impatient. She slithered around some more and began nudging his cheek with her head. “ **Wake up, something is happening**.”

“ **I’m tired, though, Nagini**!” hissed Harry sleepily, his eyes still clamped closed. “ **In the morning, it’s like two in the morning** ,” he finally opened his eyes and looked at the clock. “ **Fine, just after midnight, what is it**?”

“ **I just said something was happening, something odd** ,” hissed Nagini angrily. “ **If you would listen instead of lazing about all day**.”

“ **I am not lazing, as you so call it. I am, or I was, sleeping** ,” hissed Harry with a yawn. “ **What’s happening, Nagini, any ideas**?”

“ **I am not sure, youngling, something is amiss and something has shifted** ,” hissed Nagini in a very slow tone, something highly unusual for her. “ **I’ll be coming with you in the future, I will not be leaving you alone, something is definitely wrong**.”

“ **Wait… you cannot come to classes with me, the professors, they won’t like it** ,” hissed Harry quickly, not liking the look Nagini gave him. “ **Must you look at me like that**?”

“ **Look at you like what, youngling**?”

“ **Like you’re speaking to a child who you know isn’t going to listen, but should and – hey! Don’t change the subject!** ”

Nagini flicked out her tongue.

“ **I may look young, and handsome, but I am very mature** ,” hissed Harry.

Nagini hissed something that sounded suspiciously like ‘vain’ and other such minor insults, and then made a noise that closely resembled a snake-snort. “ **Youngling, please be quiet, you will do as I ask**.”

“ **That’s the thing, you didn’t ask, you demanded**!”

“ **Idiot human, I am far wiser than you, there’s a reason the house you’re in is resembled by a snake. We’re the best** ,” hissed Nagini, she lifted her head, as if raising her chin. “ **Now, you will listen to me, and you will bring me along, wherever you go, I come with you**.”

“ **Yes master, of course master** ,” mocked Harry, his smile was wide and his cheeks tinged a slight pink from the strain he put on them.

“ **Excellent, you’re finally recognized me as your better, how lovely. I have waited many years for this** ,” hissed Nagini, wrapping around Harry quickly. “ **You are the servant, I am the master**.”

Harry rolled his eyes and slumped back down on the bed, being careful not to crush Nagini, who hissed in displeasure at being moved. His bright blue pyjamas stood out against the silver and green covers that were on his four-poster bed. Nagini seemed to blend in rather well with the covers and quite often hissed and spooked anyone who dared sit on Harry’s bed, which soon became her domain. His eyes slowly slid closed and he heard Nagini somewhat belittle him for his ability to stay awake and take care not to be killed as he ignored the threat that was definitely approaching.


	12. Idle Threats

Chapter 12 – **Idle Threats**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 04/May/2016_

* * *

Harry woke up from a rather pleasant dream, which was an oddity in itself as he hardly ever actually dreamed. Glancing towards the floor-to-ceiling window which adorned the second-year boys’ dormitory, he realised that the sun was now up higher than it should be for his usual waking time. In some sense, it did make sense that he was sleeping later than usual. He was, as most would put it, ruining his body’s internal clock by getting very little sleep.

Not that he cared about that. The knowledge that he was gaining was worth it.

The first thing he realised that was considered to be off with his morning wakeup was the fact that Nagini wasn’t on the bed or in the immediate area and that concerned him.

It’s best not to ask how he knew she wasn’t around. Perhaps it was due to the bond they shared and he could feel her.

But despite that, there was still weight on the end of his bed and this freaked him out more than Nagini missing. Unless she had decided to bring him some sort of large animal to boast about – which wasn’t common, even for a snake of her size and power – then it was a human sitting on the end of his bed.

This wasn’t all, of course it wasn’t.

Off to the side, he heard a very hushed whispering from two people who had to be Draco and someone else, either Rosier or Theodore. The first thought was he was being pranked and that didn’t settle well with him at all. If that was the case, people would pay dearly for daring to prank him.

He gave a slight stretch, making sure they knew he was awake, and slowly set his eyes onto the person or object that was on the foot of his bed. The moment he saw the eyes he knew exactly who it was and that worried him, especially as he had no idea on why she was here. “Good morning, Narcissa,” he said with a slight sniff, his tone light. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance on this fine morning.”

A smile appeared on Narcissa’s face before it faded as quickly as it appeared. “Don’t try and sway me with your little charming ways. I’m sure if you could, you’d be blinking sheepishly and kicking your shoes against each other if you felt it had a way out of your current predicament,” she said, looking at Harry with a somewhat concerned expression. “While I’m sure your little façade of an innocent boy works on plenty of others, it’ll never work on me because I know you, Harry. In the future, do try and remember who taught you the pleasantries that you use daily.”

Harry listened to Narcissa, trying to decipher her tone and what emotion she was trying to push onto him. Her tone was low, but not a cold or bitter tone. The only thing he could compare it to was her disappointed tone, which was worse than her tone of yelling.

“I’m not going to dance around with sugar-coated words, nor will I extend any pleasantries towards you regarding this.”

Harry knew what she meant almost instantly. She simply meant that she didn’t want to dance around with pure-blood etiquette for the conversation and the underlying ‘I’m going to be blunt’ wasn’t said. In fact, he could have missed her secondary meaning completely.

“Instead of scolding you, like most would, I’m simply going to make you realise that you cannot go around and call people such filthy names,” said Narcissa. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

Harry paled slightly, not that anyone would notice. “I honestly didn’t mean to say it, it sort of slipped out.”

“Word travels fast,” said Narcissa, her tone calm. “Your mother and I weren’t exactly friends during the school years, which does make some sense as we only had a few years together. At the start, she was friendly towards everyone, which wasn’t considered off as she was a Gryffindor and they’re prone to being extroverts. Now, everyone loved your mother, the professors included, even Slytherin students were smitten with this first-year that seemed to have an outstanding grasp of Charms, even in her very first lesson.”

Harry knew this. He knew that his mother was one of the best students in Charms, along with Potions and a few other lessons over the years.

“– overtime, your mother and I had a large rift between us, at those times there was a war going on,” continued Narcissa. “I only knew your mother for a small period of time while she was at Hogwarts and in that very small time I began an intense hatred for her, because she was a simple Muggleborn student and seemingly did well in her schooling years. I never called her a Mudblood to her face, despite the war, I’m not that shallow and I had an image to maintain, being a Black and such. Other Slytherins weren’t so subtle. When I condemned them to it, they did it because a Black said so, the Blacks, besides Sirius, are a respectable family, and I held some power while in Hogwarts.”

“Yes, Narcissa, I know all about the Black lineage.”

“I didn’t expect any less,” said Narcissa. “But I’m not here to discuss the famous, or infamous, depends on how you look at them, Black family. The word you used is a disgusting word that causes wars to start. How do you think the first war started, Harry?”

“Segregation, racism and political drivel.”

“Exactly,” said Narcissa. “The target was Muggle-born witches and wizards, which was easy pickings for the bigoted pure-blooded wizards and witches that wanted someone to suffer for their issues, so they put it down to the Muggle-born witches and wizards. Now, think of the reaction when people learned that a Potter used the same word that ignited a war that caused thousands to lose their lives?”

Harry had no idea what the fickle masses would think about what he had said to a girl in school. He knew that children tended to be stupid and said things they didn’t mean all the time. Of course, that didn’t apply to him.

“I have no idea why you decided that you would use it in such a manner and at the age of twelve! You’re meant to be making friends, not enemies. What caused you to call her such a name anyway?”

Harry wisely remained silent for a while, pondering on how he could get out of this situation. He didn’t lie to Narcissa, which was one promise that he would stand by for as long as he lived and breathed. “Granger…. poked her nose into things should doesn’t understand,” he started off weakly, wondering how else he could get his point across without sounding insane. “When she assumed that I could be bought out with money is when I really lost control and I simply said the very first thing that would offend her and cause a largescale reaction.”

“A largescale reaction?”

“Yes,” replied Harry. “Longbottom and Weasley can be easily quietened with spells and some hexes. Granger, however, has a little more aptitude regarding theory and would most likely know half the spells I send. There’s a few that she recognises instantly, but her grasp on defences is poor at best.”

“Well,” said Narcissa. “Your excuse is terrible and flaws, but that doesn’t matter. You did break one fundamental rule of Slytherin. Don’t get caught.”

“I didn’t get caught.”

“You did because you ignored the fundamental rule of Slytherin!” said Narcissa, her tone getting sharper as she spoke. “Avoiding capture is by far the most important rule of Slytherin simply because it shows how cunning you are. You still got caught, even if no on professors were present. You left witnesses.”

Harry was tempted to just say that everyone was over reacting to a simple slur that wasn’t even that offensive to begin with. It’s just a label, much like calling someone a pure-blood or a half-blood. Sure, the term is crude and comes off as offensive, but getting offended over what you are is stupid.

“You called someone a Mudblood when sixteen other people were present,” continued Narcissa. “The Slytherin team would protect you, but you still said it with nine Gryffindors looming around and watching you. I’m not going to lie, I know a vast majority of Slytherins still use the word on a frequent basis, but they do it in private and to each other, not in the middle of a courtyard.”

“Who reported it?”

“One of the Gryffindors – the female Chaser, I assume. She has long black hair,” said Narcissa, trying to remember what the headmaster had said when she came in. “Professor McGonagall instantly forwarded the report straight to your parents, even though it wasn’t on her authority to do that. It just proves how Gryffindors act and how careful you need to be around them.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but why didn’t either of my parents come?”

“James was the person to read the report,” said Narcissa. “He hid it away from Lily and read it in private and then got rather secretive about it, at least according to Lily.”

“You must forgive me for not believing that,” said Harry. “I’m sure he would have fumed or practically handed it to mother. Why would he try and keep it from her?”

“Do I really need to explain that?”

“No, no. No, I don’t think so,” said Harry. “I just cannot imagine James doing anything like that at all. In some sense, I’m amazed that he didn’t come and bombard me with questions and demanding answers. I guess that he wouldn’t dare step foot into this common room anyway. He’d most likely just pace at the entrance and complain about Slytherin students.”

“Your mother isn’t well, Harry –”

Harry was, as it could be put, shocked into deafness. The only thing that he heard was that his mother wasn’t well and that meant that she was sick! The last time he had seen her she was healthy and now he was learning that she was sick and that something could be wrong? He needed to leave and make sure she was fine.

“– it isn’t life threatening, but she is sick,” continued Narcissa. “Your father is staying with her and refuses to leave her side, making sure that she has everything she needs and what she doesn’t need at the moment is her son flinging around words that personally insult her. He forwarded the report to Lucius, who in turn pushed it to me, claiming that I was better prepared to handle it.”

Harry sat silent, his eyes piercing the far wall.

“I do expect you to write an apology to Hermione Granger and one to your mother,” said Narcissa. “Miss. Granger is this generations Lily Evans. Smart, powerful, and kind. Both Muggleborn, as well.”

“I understand,” said Harry, his voice monotone. “I will… send mother a letter as soon as possible, most likely today, and then I’ll begin on the letter to Granger.”

If Narcissa noticed the somewhat cold and detached tone from the boy, she said nothing and nodded. “Farewell, Harry,” she said, making her way towards her son, who gave her a curious glance. She herded the two boys out and allowed Harry to get dressed in privacy. “Keep an eye on him, Draco, I fear that something isn’t right.”

“Goodbye, mother,” said Draco, smiling. He didn’t object to the kiss that his mother planted on the right side of his forehead and watched her sweep from the common room in her elegant dress.

“So… what’s going on?” asked Theodore, confused. “I may not be in on most of the action that you lot get up to, but even I can see that something’s going on.”

“I’m not sure,” said Draco.

Theodore nodded and decided to just change the subject, not wanting to talk about a subject that could cause issues for the small group. “I wonder what we’re being served for breakfast today. Yesterday was the usual for the day, but today is the random day. I hope its pancakes, to be honest.”

A few minutes went by before Harry emerged from the second-year boys’ dormitory, looking as if he’d been awake and dressed for hours. Hope increased for Draco that Harry would be his usual self today, even after that news that he received.

Sadly for Draco. That didn’t happen.

Breakfast came and went and Harry hadn’t said a single word, just nodding and staring blankly when asked a stupid question, telling the other person their question was stupid. Lessons started and finished with the same tone. He never put up his hand for a question, nor did he actively contribute to the lesson, as he usually did. Instead, he remained silent and endured the concerned looks by Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape.

That latter’s stare being the worst.

When the day was finally done, he quickly made his way towards the Slytherin common room and found himself on his bed, gently rubbing Nagini’s head. She was his comfort and knowing that she was still there while he wrote his letter was enough for him to feel somewhat at peace.

_Dear Mother,_

_I recently heard some concerning news regarding you and your health –_

Harry continued to write before sighing and tossing it into the nearby bin and starting over. He had no idea how to even start the letter, let alone word it without sounding as if he was going mental. He picked up his quill and dipped it into his inkpot, preparing to try once more.

_Mother,_

_I was visited by Narcissa today, which was a surprising visit. She informed me of some things and eventually your health came up and she stated that you were sick. I just want to know if you’re alright and if there’s anything that I can do to help you get better. I know you’re great at potions, but maybe I can make you some and send them along with Hedwig._

_I’ve been spending a lot more time with Hedwig recently, as you suggested. She and I are bonding a bit more now and I think it’s made her happy. Of course, I think Nagini is upset about the recent events._

_I hope you get better!_

_If you need anything, please owl me or even use the Floo and demand that Professor Dumbledore come and get me. Even if I’m in the middle of an exam, I’ll leave and come aid you._

_Love from,_

_Harry_

He attached the letter on Hedwig’s foot and gently pet the owl who was nudging his hand almost affectionately. “Try and get that to mother as fast as you can,” he said. “Make sure you remain safe as well.”

Hedwig flew out of the window with the letter.

Over the next week she sent a lot of letters, almost a letter each time she was ready to deliver another one, from her master that seemed to be losing his mind each day that went by without a response.

\--

October arrived, spreading its vast and chilly weather over the enormous grounds, as well as allowing a damp chill to penetrate the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was kept highly busy as a sudden rush of colds flashed throughout the castle, many staff and students found themselves sneezing and coughing during the day. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly on students and professors alike, curing the symptoms of those who drank the potion, although, it left the drink smoking somewhat at the ears for a few hours. Raindrops, which were the size of bullets, thundered down upon the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flowerbed turned into muddy streams and the pumpkins that Hagrid had begun to grow had almost tripled in size.

Harry walked into the castle, scowling at anyone who dared talk to him. He kept his speech down to a minimum and only conversed with Draco and Rosier, everyone else could suffer. He quickly spotted the Bloody Baron, who was floating in mid-air, unintentionally frightening a bunch of first-year Hufflepuffs. “Baron,” he said coolly, startling the first-years even more. “You’re scaring the children.”

“Am I?” replied the Bloody Baron, a look of sorrow appeared on his ghostly face. “So I am.”

“Don’t worry too much,” said Harry, easing the despondent ghost. “They jumped when I spoke as well. Rumour has it that you never speak to anyone and here you are.”

“Ah, Harrison,” said the Bloody Baron. “I haven’t seen you in a while, keeping out of trouble, I hope.”

“Me in trouble?” said Harry, smiling slightly. “You’re misinformed. I’m the perfect picture of innocence.”

“You’re as innocent as Peeves is.”

“I think Peeves is afraid of me,” said Harry, his mind wandering slightly. “Whenever I’m around, he mutters something and then flees quicker than he appears.”

“That may have been my doing,” said the Baron. “I simply mentioned that we talk and he took this as a threat. For a prankster, he really is jumpy.”

“So, what’s the latest gossip?” said Harry, chuckling. “The ghosts have been quiet.”

“The quietness is because of Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington,” said the Baron. “Nicholas is around planning his upcoming event – one such event that I was forced into attending!”

“Forced?” repeated Harry. “I’m shocked someone could manage that, Baron.”

“I shan’t spoilt the surprise!” said the Baron, sounding joyous, which caused passing students to pause momentarily. “I must admit, I’d never miss the event, even if I despise crowds.”

Harry paused for a moment, walking alongside the Baron. “If I have read and looked into it all correctly then Nicholas’ five-hundredth Deathday Party is coming up.”

“How’d you learn that?’ said the Baron. “It’s meant to be a secret!”

“I have my ways,” smirked Harry. “Nicholas’ was tragic.”

The two conversed about the reasoning of the tragic death of Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Of course, it soon got heated and the two were staring at each other as they debated it, which drew a slight crowd.

“That’s where I cross a line, Baron,” said Harry, huffing. “I would utilise any method at my despicable to stay alive. Survival is key. I would use any means necessary to survive, even if it did eventually result in the end of my life, a few more years alive would sate me well.”

“A worrying thing, my boy,” said the Baron. “However, for a while, I would have agreed with you.”

“Why not now?”

“I died,” said the Baron. “I’m sure you already know that anyone who has met with Death cannot explain the afterlife. Portraits – ghosts – we’re locked behind a thin veil that blocks us from informing you on what happens.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow, already know what Death was like and what happened afterwards. In fact, he had a feeling that he Bloody Baron knew this as well.

“As morbid as it sounds, I vastly enjoyed and deserved my death,” said the Baron. “I didn’t chose to remain as a ghost, else I would have gladly move downwards. Death made me a ghost and said that I had a purpose to fill and that when I had done it, I would vanish.”

Harry was now curious on what Death had to do with the ghosts and why they remained. “Isn’t that suffering for you?” he asked curiously. “Not being able to move onwards.”

“My soul is gone, Harrison. Only my spirit and heart remain.”

“Curious,” said Harry, “Your heart remained?”

“Yes, I can still love, Harrison –”

Harry spun around when he realised the Bloody Baron had stopped speaking and had his usual despondent look on his face. Something was off with the Baron as there wasn’t a reason for why a ghost would need a heart. He looked straight at Longbottom and Weasley, who were both gaping.

“Eavesdropping?” said the Baron. “What shame, Godric would be appalled that his students pulled such a thing.”

Harry paused and glanced down, following Longbottom’s gaze. “Shoo,” he hissed at the cat. “Go away!”

His response was a high-pitched mewing.

Harry stared at the cat’s lamp-like yellow eyes. It was of course, Mrs. Norris, the skeletal grey cat who was used by the caretaker, known as Mr. Filch, as a sort of deputy in catching and punishing students in his endless battle against them.

“I suggest you flee,” said the Baron. “Flee before that man comes around here and threatens you with something beneath you. You’ve done nothing wrong, but two people trailed mud into the corridor and I’m sure he’ll somehow pin it on you for just being here.”

Harry silently agreed. Filch was a moron who would quickly ruin his no detention streak if he was even in the same part of the castle. He made good use of avoiding the pesky caretaker.

“If what Peeves had said not even an hour ago,” said the Baron. “Then the man is in a foul mood. Something about being sick and some sort of explosions that spread soot all over the floor he had just cleaned.”

“I guess you’re right, Baron,” said Harry, sending the ghost a charming smile. “Best be off then!”

He quickly took a step away from the cat, which then sent him a very accusing stare. Sadly, he couldn’t slip away from the beast in time and he couldn’t turn around go by Longbottom and Weasley, as then he’d be walking in the mud and he’d be accused without being able to defend himself.

It was a minute later when he came face-to-face with Mr. Filch, who barged through a nearby tapestry, clearly hiding a shortcut from somewhere else. The man had a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, his purple nose only just sticking out from the massive scarf. He looked at the caretaker, hiding his disdain and quickly realised that the man was wheezing and sneezing and all other kinds of disgusting things.

Filch looked wildly between the ghost, Mrs. Norris, the lone Slytherin and the two Gryffindors with an accusing glare that only amplified when he noticed tracks of mud. “FILTH!” he bellowed, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the puddle of mud behind the two Gryffindors. His eyes fell on the clean spot beneath the Slytherin and turned back to the Gryffindors. “Mess and muck everywhere! I have had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, you three!”

Harry paused and glared at the caretaker. “Me?” he said, his tone colder than the weather outside. “I have been talking to the Bloody Baron for the previous fifteen minutes. As you can see, my shoes are clean. I haven’t even been outside at all today! I mean, why would I? The weather is horrid.”

“Don’t talk back to me, boy!” said Filch angrily. “I know that the mud is the work of you lot!”

Harry didn’t argue vocally. ‘It’s like talking to a wall made of trolls,’ he thought bitterly as he followed the idiotic caretaker. “I should have just let Nagini eat your filthy cat and then I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Filch stopped and spun around. “What’d you say, boy?”

“I said,” said Harry, drawing in a breath. “I should have just let Nagini eat your filthy cat and then I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Filch stuttered slight and turned his glare towards the red-headed boy who was actually laughing.

“Come to think of it,” continued Harry. “I’m sure your filthy cat would give my snake indigestion and then it’d be that gets the short of the end of the stick. You can get a new cat, I cannot make my snake feel better quickly.”

“You dare!”

Harry was saved from a childish rant by the sneezing caretaker when they finally reached his office. He hadn’t ever seen the inside of Filch’s office and he was actually excited to see if it was as worn-down as the caretaker looked. He had four Galleons on the fact that it would be, what the Muggles tended to call such things, a dump.

“Get in!” said Filch.

Harry stepped inside, just behind Weasley and Longbottom and observed the room. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, he could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch’s desk.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment. “Dung… great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I’ve had enough of it… make an example… where’s the form… yes…” each word was spoken with a furious tone. He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot. “Name… Harry Potter. Crime –”

“Are you seriously going to accuse me of doing something that I never even done?” asked Harry, interrupting the already irate caretaker. “Why aren’t you blaming the two Gryffindors that somehow managed to bring in the entire Quidditch field with them?”

Filch continued to mutter his future punishments, ignoring the boy.

“I honestly don’t see what the big deal is anyway,” said Harry, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Why don’t you just use a bit of magic and just vanish the mud, like any smart person would do? Instead you act like a raving lunatic.”

That seemed to send Filch into a spiralling fit of childish anger. He dropped the quill that he was writing with and glanced up at the student that recommended such a thing. “Just vanish the mud, he says. Just vanish the mud! JUST VANISH THE MUD!”

Harry watched in a cross between amusement and disgust as the raving caretaker was yelling now, his tone became cracked in places where he put too much strain on his voice. It was amusing.

“It’s an extra hour of scrubbing to me, boy!” shouted Filch, spit flying all over his desk. “Crime… befouling the castle… suggested sentence –”

“You won’t dare!” snapped Harry, watching as the quill that was writing something down stopped moving. “You’ll live to regret it if you ruin my perfect record by assigning me a detention over something that I didn’t even do. I was standing there talking to the Bloody Baron when your cat decided to stick its ugly nose into my business and then you trailed it and decided to accuse me, despite the fact the fact that you know I did nothing wrong.”

“Boy –”

“If you do give me a detention,” interrupted Harry coldly. “I’ll make sure that your stupid cat is hung from somewhere and cleaning traces of mud will be the least of your concerns.”

Filch paused and glanced at the Slytherin boy who was standing perfectly calm, despite the anger he just pushed through his voice. He sniffed and looked at the two Gryffindors that appeared to be just as shocked as he felt. “You dare threaten me, boy? I’ll see to it that the –”

The sound of crashing echoed throughout the small office that belonged to Filch, making the said man stop speaking and narrow his eyes as he glanced around. The ceiling of the office shook, which made the oil lamp rattle.

“PEEVES!” roared Filch. He flung down the quill he was holding and made a break for the door that lead out into the corridor. “I’ll have you this time, I’ll have you!”

Harry watched as Filch, without a backwards glance, ran flat-footed from the office and out into the corridor. Mrs. Norris, his cat, streaking alongside him. “Never thought I’d be grateful for Peeves actually doing something,” he said as he peered down on the desk of the caretaker. “Hmm, what’s this?”

“Harry,” said Neville, watching as Harry picked up the letter. “You shouldn’t read other people’s mail.”

Harry snorted and turned over the large purple envelope, which had silver letting on it, making it look like a child had designed the thing. “Kwikspell?” he asked towards the group of Gryffindors, who said nothing. Deciding that they were no help, he decided to read it in his head.

_KWIKSPELL_

_A Correspondence Course in_

_Beginners’ Magic_

Intrigued, he flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

_Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There is an answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!_

_Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:_

_I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the centre of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!_

_Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:_

_My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!_

Harry let out a snort of laughter as he continued to thumb through the contents of the letter that looked just as pathetic as the front of the letter. He couldn’t hold the laughter that came up to the part that had a few _useful_ tips that would aid any wizard that was lacking in the magical department. He had just read a brief entry into lesson one, which was aptly called: _Holding Your Wand (A Few Useful Tips)_ , when the shuffling footsteps appeared, informing him that Filch was just outside the door. Instead of trying to hide the letter, he instead held it up to his face as the door opened and made an act of peering at it curiously.

Filch had a look of triumph as he entered his office. “That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!” he said rather gleefully to Mrs. Norris. “We’ll have Peeves out this time, my sweet.”

Neville shuffled around nervously, knowing what Harry had planned.

Filch’s eyes fell onto the Slytherin boy who was holding something purple. His pasty face went brick red. He hobbled across the room towards the boy, snatching the letter from the boy’s hand and threw it into his desk. “Have you – did you – read –”

“I did indeed,” said Harry lazily, tossing the letter onto the desk. “You’re a Squib.”

Neville and Ron both stopped breathing for a moment, wondering what was going to happen once the announcement was made. They both had the same thoughts: Why was a Squib teaching in a school full of children?

“You do know that this garbage doesn’t work?” said Harry, glancing at the letter. “If it did, then you’d already be casting magic and not having to fork out three Sickles a week for something that is made to simply steal your money as some kind of scheme that promotes the fact that you can cast magic when you already know it’s impossible as your magical core is blocked and you cannot access it on will.”

Filch’s knobbly hands were twisting together. “That’s not mine… it’s for a friend.”

“Right,” said Harry in a mock believing tone. That one word came across as if he was speaking to a child. “This friend of yours would want the fact that he’s a Squib kept secret, I assume.”

“Yes…”

“Then perhaps it would be in your best interest to let me leave without a detention before I accidently let a few people know that a certain friend of yours is a Squib,” said Harry, a knowing look on his face. “Never give me a detention, no matter what, and your friend’s secret will remain just that, a secret.”

Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks and the tartan scarf didn’t help. He turned to Neville and Ron and glared at them. “Very well… go… and don’t breathe a word… go now, I have to write up Peeves’ report… go!”

Harry didn’t make it far before the Bloody Baron was in front of him, smiling. “Hello, Baron, pleasant to see you once more.”

“It worked, I assume, Harrison,” said the Bloody Baron. “I asked Peeves to drop something right above Filch’s office. Thought it’d get you out of there.”

Harry walked alongside the ghost and told him everything that happened.

“I’m not prejudice,” started the Baron. “But I don’t see why the headmaster would employ a Squib in such a position. It seems counterproductive.”

“It does.”

“It’s still good that you got some information on him to keep his hands tied,” continued the Baron. “I must admit, though, I do dislike how you handled the situation. Threatening his pet will just come back on you if something happens.”

Harry laughed softly and whispered the password to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. “If it does, Baron, I’ll just simply flee. You needn’t worry about me.”

“I shouldn’t, but I do, Harrison,” said the Baron, glancing around the common room. “We’ll talk later. Farewell, Harrison.”

“Farewell, Baron,” said Harry, watching as the ghost floated through the roof and towards his usual spot in the castle.

The entire common room stood silent as the whole exchange between a second-year and a ghost that hardly spoke to anyone spoke like they had been friends for years.

“Harry!” cried Gemma, as she ran into the room. “You speak to the Bloody Baron? That’s so awesome.”

Nagini dropped from Harry’s robes with a displeased hiss and slithered across the floor, sulking as she did so. “ **Filthy human, tried to crush me**.”

“Oh sorry, I almost crushed your pet snake!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t usually like leaving notes at the end of chapters, but I need to clear up any misconceptions that I’ve added that aren’t canon or being explained for a while. I’m taking the ghosts and a few other creatures (that I won’t name because of spoilers) and changing them slightly, giving them a more unique perspective. For example: Ghosts remain as that until they fulfil their dying wish, even if they have no idea what it is. Once their goal is completed, they simply move on. I hope this explains why the Baron says that his soul has moved on, yet his spirit and heart linger. :)
> 
> It’ll be discussed in better detail later on. I am, at this moment, just informing you somewhat.


	13. The Deathday Party

Chapter 13 – **The Deathday Party**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 07/May/2016_

* * *

By the time that Hallowe’en slowly crawled there was a small group of students that weren’t celebrating. One of them was Harry Potter, who had agreed to go to the Death Day party to celebrate the five-hundredth Deathday Party of Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. With the Blood Baron. It wasn’t that he regret saying he would, it was just that he didn’t feel it would be fun if he went. The only thing that stopped him from debating an early departure was the fact that the Golden Trio was apparently also attending, at least according to the Baron.

Ron Weasley groaned as they walked by the Great Hall, which was decorated with live bats, Hagrid’s vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in and there were rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. He had fought with Neville and Hermione, claiming that the attendance of a Death Day party was stupid.

His moaning was renewed with vigour when the smell of the food in the Great Hall wafted into the Entrance Hall.

“You’ll be fine, Ron,” said Hermione, almost bouncing on the spot. “Going without food for one night won’t kill you.”

“Mum says a growing boy needs all the food he can get.”

“You ate more food at lunch than me and Hermione combined,” said Neville, laughing. “And I’m not a light eater.”

Hermione groaned. “Stop talking about food!” she said, trying not to laugh. “We should be talking about something else – something exciting.”

“Food _is_ exciting, Hermione.”

“You know what isn’t exciting?” said Neville, a glint that the other two didn’t recognise was in his eyes.

“No,” said Ron at the same time that Hermione said, “What?”

“Books!”

Hermione let out an indignant sound and had a facial expression that looked as if someone had kicked, then stolen her only puppy, and maybe even beheaded her teddy bear. “Neville!” she said. “Books are a valuable source of knowledge.”

“I’m gonna be honest, ‘Mione,” started Ron, ignoring the slight glare. “I was expecting you to start a long speech defending books.”

“She’s not Harry, Ron,” said Neville. “She won’t start a monologue because you insulted books.”

Hermione sniffed. “He is right though.”

“Knowledge is power!”

“Ronald!” said Hermione. “That is such a bad thing to say! Knowledge isn’t power.”

“It’s Potter’s catchphrase,” snorted Ron. “He says it the moment someone questions his reading habits.”

Hermione shook her head and allowed the two boys to converse as they walked up the staircases and towards the room that the Deathday Party would be held in. She couldn’t grasp the fact that the black-haired boy thought that knowledge was power. It was so similar to a phrase that were said in war, just alter to fit his purpose. She had no idea why a twelve year old would have a quote that reflects power.

“This corridor is creepy,” said Neville, looking at the long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As he shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

“Is that meant to be music?” whispered Ron, mainly to Hermione. “It’s…”

“Ear-piercing,” threw in Neville.

Ron nodded as he turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

“My dear friends! Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come!” said Nicolas, sweeping off his purple hat and gesturing them to enter the room.

It was an incredible sight, despite the despondent feeling that lurked around the doorway that the three Gryffindors stood at. The room, which they realised was in the dungeons, was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

“Shall we have a look around?” suggested Neville, rubbing his hands together. “I’m pretty sure my toes are about to fall off.”

Ron letting out a shivering sound and looked at Neville. “Just be careful not to walk through anyone,” he said with another shiver, his tone nervous. “Merlin, it’s so cold!”

They set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead.

Neville wasn’t surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts. What he was surprised at was the boy in Slytherin robes laughing at whatever the Bloody Baron had just said.

“Oh no!”

“What?” both Neville and Ron said.

“Turn back, turn back, I don’t want to talk to Moaning Myrtle!” said Hermione, taking small steps backwards.

“Who’s Moaning Myrtle?” asked Neville, watching as Hermione practically sped away from the direction of the said ghost. “And why are we running from her?”

“Moaning who?” asked Ron, his eyes tinged pink.

“She haunts the girls’ toilet on the first floor.”

“She haunts a toilet?” asked Ron, confusion evident from his tone. “That’s odd.”

Hermione frowned, but covered it quickly. “Yes. It’s been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it, it’s awful trying to go to the loo with her wailing at you –”

“Look, food!” said happily, interrupting Hermione. His eyes locked onto the other side of the dungeon, where there was a long table, also covered in black velvet.

“I wouldn’t attempt to eat anything that’s in this room,” said Harry from the bench just to the right off the three Gryffindors. He eyed them with a slight humorous expression. “I can safely say that your appetite will be ruined and the sheer thought of food will leave a rather disgusting feeling in your mouth.”

The look on Potter’s face made Ron’s choice easy. He would ignore the Slytherin. He approached the table eagerly, ignoring Potter’s ‘I told you so’ as they walked up to it. The moment he saw the food he paused directly in his tracks. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words:

_Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington_

_died 31st October, 1492_

Neville watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon. “Can you taste it if you walk through it?”

“Almost…” said the ghost sadly and slowly drifted away.

“I expect they’ve let it rot to give it a stronger flavour,” said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

“Can we move? I feel sick,” said Ron, holding his nose with one hand, and the other on his stomach. He had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air before them.

“Hello, Peeves,” said Neville, a cautious expression on his face. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow-tie and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

“Nibbles?” said Peeves sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

“No thank you,” all three of them said together.

“Heard you talking about poor Myrtle,” said Peeves, his eyes dancing. “Rude you was about poor Myrtle.”

“Huh?”

Peeves took a deep breath and bellowed. “OY! MYRTLE!”

“Oh, no, Peeves, don’t tell her what I said, she’ll be really upset,” whispered Hermione frantically. “I didn’t mean it, I don’t mind her – err, hello, Myrtle.”

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

“What?” said Myrtle sulkily.

“How are you, Myrtle?” said Hermione, a pleasant smile on her face as she beamed at the ghost. Any living person would have known instantly that her tone was unnaturally cheerful. “It’s nice to see you out of the toilet.”

Myrtle sniffed.

“Miss. Granger was just talking about you –”

“Just saying – saying – how nice you look tonight.”

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously. “You’re making fun of me!” she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

“No – honestly – didn’t I just say how nice Myrtle’s looking?” said Hermione, nudging Neville and Ron painfully in the ribs.

Neville winced as Hermione’s elbow struck a tender spot. “Oh,” he groaned out. “Yes, Myrtle.”

“She did,” said Ron.

“Don’t lie to me!” gasped Myrtle, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. “D’you think I don’t know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!”

“You’ve missed out _spotty_ ,” whispered Peeves, leaning close to Myrtle’s ear.

Moaning Myrtle suddenly burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon.

Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling ‘Spotty! Spotty!’ as he hurled peanuts at her. He stopped near the Bloody Baron and gave the ghost a Cheshire cat grin.

“Honestly,” said Harry, looking amused. “Must you harass the poor girl? She was miserable when she was alive and now her death has been even worse. I can believe that it was you who drove her to her early death.”

Peeves looked like a scolded child, despite his grin that remained in place.

“Salazar!” said Harry. “One sad ghost was enough! We don’t need a depressed poltergeist as well.”

“Maybe he just need sa good pranking idea,” said the Baron thoughtfully. “That always gets him back on track.”

“Good idea, Baron,” said Harry, humming. “You know, Peeves, there’s a Gryffindor first-year that hasn’t been pranked by you yet.”

Peeves perked up.

“Ginevra Weasley,” said Harry, smirking as he saw Weasley tense. “You should give her one of your spectacular welcoming shows as well as something extra due to the way that her older brothers tucked her away, not allowing you to greet her!”

Peeves made a massive show of thinking of what he would do when he smirked and flew straight through the roof.

“That’s my good deed for the day done.”

“How is that a good dead?’ snapped Ron. “Sicking Peeves onto my sister isn’t a good deed!”

“In my eyes it is,” said Harry. “I’d rather not have Peeves upset and taking it out on all of us. Your brothers, mainly Percy, using the Baron as an excuse to defend your sister from Peeves.”

“So?”

“I shouldn’t be used as an escape goat,” said the Baron slowly, his tone surprisingly soft. “Especially seeing as you despise Slytherins as much as you do. I was, after all, a Slytherin back in the early days of the school. I was taught by Salazar, Godric, Rowena and Helga. Godric would be rolling in his grave if he knew that his students were following hatred instead of their hearts.”

The conversation was stopped, much to Hermione’s annoyance, by Nearly Headless Nick, or as he preferred, Sir Nicholas, floating into the small gathering. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, it’s great!” said Neville, more enthusiastically.

Ron just nodded his head to whatever Neville had said.

“Not a bad turnout,” said Nicholas, mainly to himself. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent!”

“That’s lovely.”

“Oh!” said Nicholas, looking around. “It’s nearly time for my speech, I’d better go and warn the orchestra.”

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

“Oh, here we go.”

Hermione looked at Sir Nicholas curiously, wondering what made the ghost so upset.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Neville started to clap too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick’s face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging; a large ghost at the front, whose bearded head was under his arm, blowing the horn, leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd, everyone laughed, and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck. “Nick!” he roared. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?” He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

“Welcome, Patrick,” said Nicholas somewhat bitterly.

“Live ‘uns!” said Sir Patrick excitedly, spotting Neville, Ron and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again, of course the crowd howled with laughter.

“Very amusing,” muttered Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

“Don’t mind Nick!” shouted Sir Patrick’s head from the floor. “He’s still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say – look at the fellow –”

“Sir Patrick, is it?” said Harry, interrupting the ghost who instantly paused and turned towards him. “You do know that it’s highly rude to come to someone’s Deathday Party and then insult them in front of everyone. Now, from what I have gathered, the name _Patrick_ comes from the Latin name _Patricius_ , which meant _nobleman_. I highly suggest you start acting like a nobleman and not a low-paid jester.”

“If I could have everyone’s attention, it’s time for my speech!” said Nicholas loudly, his voice cutting through the awkward silence that had just occurred, striding towards the podium and climbing into an icy-blue spotlight. “My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow…”

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

“I can’t stand much more of this,” muttered Ron, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

Neville didn’t need much more encouragement than that. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Let’s go.”

Hermione seemed to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. “But what about Nick?” she asked. “We cannot just leave during his party!”

“We can,” said Ron instantly. “He won’t mind.”

Neville agreed with Ron. “Hang on a minute,” he said, peering around the room. “Where’d Harry go?”

“Why do you keep calling him Harry?” asked Ron, annoyed. “You do realise that he’ll never call you Neville and he doesn’t deserve for you to address him by his name.”

“It’s a habit.”

“One you should break,” said Hermione, looking as put out as Ron. “He’s nothing but a git.”

“Alright,” said Neville. “Still, I wonder where he went…”

“Who cares?”

Neville wanted to tell Ron that he cared and even if Harry may be a prat, git and any other term that could be used, he still had known him for almost his entire life. He knew that Harry couldn’t talk for most of his life as he experienced it, especially when they were younger.

The Golden Trio backed slowly towards the door, intent of getting out of there as soon as possible. They nodded and beamed politely at any ghost that looked at them. A minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

“Pudding might not be finished yet!” said Ron hopefully, his stomach rumbling as he spoke. He led the way towards the steps to the Entrance Hall.

“ **Rip… tear… kill**.”

Neville stopped moving and froze instantly, not even daring to take a breath. It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart’s office. He stumbled towards the nearby stone wall, clutching at it as he listened with all his might for any other signs of the voice. He looked around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

Hermione watched Neville curiously for a brief moment before she opened her mouth to speak.

“What are you doing?” said Ron, speaking for Hermione.

“It’s that voice again,” said Neville. “Shut up for a minute.”

“ **Soo hungry… for so long**!”

“Listen!” urged Neville, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.

“ **Kill… time to kill**!”

The voice grew fainter and fainter as it spoke.

Neville was sure it was moving away – moving upwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn’t matter? “This way!” he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Hallowe’en feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. He sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.

Hermione panted, clutching onto Ron. “Neville, what are we –”

“Be quiet!” said Neville quickly, still running up the stairs. He strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice again.

“ **I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD**!”

Neville’s stomach lurched. “It’s going to kill someone!” he shouted, and ignoring Ron and Hermione’s bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps. He hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Neville, what was that all about?” said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. “I couldn’t hear anything.”

Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. “Look!”

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached, slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED._

_ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

“What’s that thing – hanging underneath?” asked Ron, fear coursing through his voice as he spoke.

They edged closer and closer towards the thing hanging underneath the large writing. Neville only just managing to steady Hermione as she stepped into a puddle and almost slipped over. Their eyes fixed on the message as they slowly inches forwards, taking more care in case they slipped on the puddles of water.

All three of them realised what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a splash. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. For a few seconds, they didn’t move.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Ron suddenly, taking another step backwards.

“Shouldn’t we at least try and help Mrs. Norris?’ asked Hermione nervously, her eyes flicking between Ron and the caretaker’s cat.

“Do you remember what Harry said, Ron?” asked Neville, his tone soft. “Do you remember what he said when we were in Filch’s office?”

“Nah,” said Ron. “I don’t listen to anything he says.”

“He said that he would make sure that Filch’s cat would be hung from somewhere,” said Neville, frightened. “And that cleaning mud would be the last of his concerns.”

“You think Potter did this?” asked Hermione. “This has to be a prank.”

“No one would take a prank to this extreme,” said Ron. “Not even Fred and George.”

“Potter is just a student!” said Hermione. “He couldn’t kill a cat and then use its blood to write on the wall!”

“The cat is hanging somewhere and Filch’ll have to clean the blood from the wall,” said Neville. “It all makes sense!”

“So what do we do?”

“I dunno,” said Ron. “Maybe we can report him to Dumbledore.”

Hermione huffed, about to object due to the Stone situation last year.

“Nah, Dumbledore trusts me now,” said Neville, reading his friend’s thoughts clearly. “After the Stone issue, we spoke over the summer and he realised that it was bad to turn us away when we asked for help.”

“Why did he turn us away?”

“Professor McGonagall had orders to turn any student away that asks due to pranks and such happening a few months earlier,” said Neville. “Someone told her that they found the Stone.”

“Others knew?” asked Ron, confused. “About the Stone?”

“Seventh-years, Ronald,” said Hermione. “Of course they would know.”

“We came across it by luck,” said Neville. “Anyone dedicated and intelligent enough would figure it out. Harry did.”

“Can we not talk about him?’ said Hermione. “He scares me.”

Ron swore and took another step backwards. “We’ve got to leave!” he said. “We cannot be found here, especially since we weren’t at the Hallowe’en Feast.”

Neville nodded and attempted to leave. Sadly, it was far too late.

A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends. The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Neville, Ron and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Harry, who slowly edged through the group reached the front and broke the silence. “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, enemies of the heir, beware.”

Neville paled even more at the fact that Harry had said the words with zero emotion in his tone.

Ron squinted at Potter with an accusing glance. The conversation, thanks to Neville, in Filch’s office was fresh in his mind and he was slowly putting together the dots that were appearing regarding the case. The threats against Filch and his cat weren’t forgotten.

The fact that Potter had a pet snake, one that was currently sitting at his feet with what you could call a smug like expression on its face, which unnerved him more than he could even describe. Potter’s snake was menacing and it had these eyes that bored straight into you, as if it was planning on eating you for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally attached to the previous chapter, but I decided to give it it's own experience and give it a little more detail. I do, however, apologise for the scattered chapter updates... life has been rather all over the place and I've been plotting and planning for the future parts in the series. I have also been trying to fix up some of the older chapters. Mainly grammar, as that's far from my strongest suit.


	14. Innumerable Accusations

Chapter 14 – **Innumerable Accusations**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 12/May/2016_

* * *

“What’s going on here?” said Filch, weaving between groups of students, hoping to find the commotion that caused nearly half the school to stop and pause in one corridor. “Make way, make way!”

The groups of students split, feeling pity of the caretaker that no one actually liked, but losing a beloved pet was enough to make them give the man the space he needed and without hassle that he would see his dead cat. The confusing part of the split was that the Slytherins didn’t split until Harry made a gesture and the second-years split, which caused the rest to follow suit.

Filch, ignoring the rare display from the students, grumbled forwards and stepped into the empty circle that the students were circling around, as if to afraid to step any closer. His eyes fell on the three Gryffindors, who looked terrified and then onto the wall that they were staring at. “What’s all this?” he asked grumpily as his eyes travelled up the wall and landed on his cat, Mrs. Norris. He instantly looked around for the culprit, his eyes landing Harry Potter, who had a smug look, and his snake, who was wrapped around his feet. “YOU!”

“Me,” replied Harry calmly. “What about me, Filch?”

Filch’s eyes popped out comically as he clutched his head, unsure of what to do. “You! You’ve murdered my cat, my poor, sweet Mrs. Norris! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you!”

Harry sneered at the pathetic man, flicking away any accusation with slightly narrowed eyes. “Do tell me what I would gain from slaughtering your poor, innocent cat?” he said through gritted teeth. “What exactly would I gain by killing the caretaker’s cat and then writing on the wall with some cryptic message regarding a chamber?”

Filch stood his ground, furious and filled with grief. “I know it was you!”

“You don’t know, Filch,” said Harry. “You assume that I killed your cat when you and I both know that I wouldn’t touch that flea-ridden thing with a ten foot pole. The thing accused me of tracking mud through the corridors, when it clearly was Longbottom and Weasley and now you’re accusing me of killing it? What idiocy.”

“I know that you did it, Potter! Mark my words! Not even your father will save you from this,” said Filch, ignoring everyone but the boy that he was accusing of the crime. “You never liked Mrs. Norris, always hated her.”

“If you don’t shut up, you’ll be joining your stupid cat on the torch bracket,” hissed Harry, his eyes clouding with anger and agitation. “You can ask anyone that’s currently standing here, if you so desire, but I arrived into the scene just moments before you did. I had only just read the message on the wall when you barged in and accused me of killing your cat.”

“Your point, Potter!”

“Hardly enough time to slip away, murder a cat and then pop back in with the group,” sneered Harry. “Even then, why would I come back?”

“Argus!” said Dumbledore loudly, walking between the students, sweeping by Neville, Ron and Hermione. “There’s no need to accuse students.”

Harry watched in disgust as the headmaster slowly pulled the stiff cat from the torch bracket and held it in his hands. He knelt down, a whisper away from Nagini. “Go and scent the filthy beast and see if you can pick up anything. It’ll be useful to know.”

Nagini hissed her response and slithered across the stone floor, shifting at various groups of students, making them jump backwards with a scream. She scented around the cat and the old man, who was holding the cat with a carefree attitude, as if she owned the place. “ **What are you staring at, old man?”** she hissed and focused back on the cat. She hissed in pleasure when she learned that the headmaster was allowing her to scent it, as if she could provide the answers.

Harry waited, studying the headmaster with narrowed eyes.

“ **The animal is alive, but it’s also dead** ,” hissed Nagini, confusion obvious in her hissing. “ **I don’t understand**.”

“Get your filthy snake away from my cat!” roared Filch, his tone breaking at minor points when he spoke. “That thing probably killed Mrs. Norris and now it wishes to eat her.”

Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed slightly. “I suppose that Nagini also grew arms and legs and clearly hung your cat on the torch bracket and decided that the best time to come and eat her was when everyone was watching,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll have you know that –”

“Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, his tone calm. “If you would remain quiet and not threaten the faculty.”

“Fine,” said Harry, his tone nothing short of annoyance. “But while you’re all gallivanting around trying play detectives, I’m competent and will get to the bottom of this.”

Professor Snape sighed and made a move to stop Harry Potter from doing something stupid as the boy tended to do when he was annoyed. He was far too hot-headed and stubborn, much like Lily.

Harry, not wasting a moment, pulled out his wand, striding towards Longbottom and poked the boy in the nose with his wand. “Legilimens!” he muttered and thrived in the sensation of getting pulled into the memories of Longbottom.

“Harry, don’t – stupid child!” said Professor Snape, holding the bridge of his nose. He glanced around and realised that the Slytherins, mainly the second-years, seemed as if they already knew and some appeared awed. The Ravenclaws looked appreciative that someone so young had mastered mind magic and was able to use it effortlessly. The Hufflepuffs were still concerned about the cat. Gryffindors were in an uproar at the use of ‘Dark Magic’ on the Boy Who Lived.

Neville had a panicked look on his face.

“He didn’t do it,” said Harry, his tone cold. “Granger, Longbottom and Weasley found the cat like this and arrived moments before the entire group did. In fact, they had a small argument about running away from it.”

Dumbledore remained quiet, already aware of Harry Potter’s talent in Legilimency, despite how hard the boy tried to hide it. He knew that the boy was a highly powerful Legilimens, rivalling Professor Snape and just as powerful at Occlumency. Saying that he wasn’t concerned would be a massive understatement. “Please come with me, Argus,” he said towards Filch. “You as well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom and Miss. Granger.”

Harry sighed and gestured for Nagini to slither up his arm.

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. “My office is nearest, headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free –”

“Thank you, Gilderoy, that is most kind,” said Dumbledore, a wide smile on his face.

The silent crowd instantly parted so that the headmaster and the small group behind him could pass without an issue. They stood still for a brief moment until Professor Snape barked at them to leave and not come back.

As the small group of students and professors entered the office of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, they realised that a flurry of movement on the walls began. Neville, being the first person to look up, saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers.

The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Neville, Ron and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching. Harry stood against the wall near Professor Snape.

The tip of Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris’s fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed.

“It was definitely a curse that killed her – probably the Transmogrifian Torture,” said Professor Lockhart helpfully. “I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn’t there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her.”

Lockhart’s comments were punctuated by Filch’s dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands.

Much as he detested Filch, Neville couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself. Even with Harry’s comment that he didn’t do it, he would be expelled if Dumbledore believed Filch.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

“I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou,” said Professor Lockhart, his tone of voice almost excited. “A series of attacks, the full story’s in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once.”

“Would you be quiet?” hissed Harry, glaring at the professor who was slowly grating on his nerves.

At last Dumbledore straightened up. “She’s not dead, Argus,” he said softly, the words echoed throughout the room.

“Not dead?” choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. “But why’s she all – all stiff and frozen?”

“She has been petrified.”

“Ah! I thought so!” said Professor Lockhart, ignoring the glare from the Potter boy.

Dumbledore ignored the interruption and smiled sadly at Filch. “But how, I cannot say.”

“Ask him!” shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tear-stained face towards the Slytherin boy and his snake. “It was him that had done it! It was him and his snake!”

Harry sent the man a cold glance. “Nagini didn’t touch your stupid cat!” he spat, his eyes narrowed. “She cannot petrify and she definitely cannot hang a cat up by its tail on a damn torch bracket. Nagini’s venom kills, not petrifies, therefore, it wasn’t her that did this to your cat!”

The room fell into a silence. The only noise was Filch’s sobbing.

“Stop accusing me of attacking your cat!” said harry, glaring at everyone in the room. This was the type of thing that would get him in trouble.

“ **Youngling, tell him that I was with you all day! That foul, smelly man may try and send me away if he thinks that I did it** ,” hissed Nagini, his hissing filled with major displeasure at the sheer thought. “ **And just so you know, I’d never attack anything that you didn’t wish me to. If I did and I was caught, we’d be separated and I’d lose my portable heating device. I would be so lost without you**.”

“He did it, he did it!” spat Filch, his pouchy face purpling. “You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found – in my office – he knows I’m a – I’m a – he knows I’m a Squib!”

“Exactly,” said Harry with a wave of his hand. “You. Are. A. Squib. You’re not a threat at all and really, what would I gain from attacking your cat anyway? Nothing, that’s what.”

“It was your snake then.”

“Don’t you dare blame Nagini either, she spent the entire day with me. Never once leaving my sight.”

“ **Youngling** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **I am certain that the fat boy who smells of earth is able to understand me. He jumps whenever I speak, as if he was forced from his nap**.”

Harry thought on it as the headmaster raved on about something to the caretaker, who was still distraught. ‘Could give Myrtle a run for her money,’ he thought in amusement as the caretaker sobbed over his petrified cat.

“ **I hate that I didn’t notice it before** ,” continued Nagini, hissing to herself. “ **But the old man seems to understand snippets as well**.”

“You threatened my cat in my office, and those three can back me up, they heard you!”

Never one to back down from an argument that started as abruptly as it had ended, Harry sneered at the caretaker. “Go and ask the Baron,” he said, trying his hardest to not spit the words at the caretaker. “I was with him most of the day and he’ll you just the same. You know that as a Hogwarts ghost he cannot lie to the headmaster, the same with the portraits.”

“The Bloody Baron hasn’t conversed with a student in about six centuries,” said Professor McGonagall, a slightly sceptical expression on her pinched face. “Why would the Bloody Baron take such an interest in you?”

“He regularly talks to the Slytherins,” said Harry, shrugging. “He spoke to me the first day that I came here, welcoming me into Slytherin.”

“Actually, Potter was at the Deathday Party with the Bloody Baron, along with us,” said Hermione, looking as if it pained her to defend him. “They both sat alone and talked amongst each other for the entire thing. Although, we lost sight of them both towards the end.”

“Baron and I didn’t want Myrtle to do something she would regret after Peeves harassed her,” said Harry. “It was actually the Baron who looked out for Myrtle, I could’ve cared less what she was planning to do. Knowing her, she probably would have tried to kill herself or something.”

“I also remember the two of them conversing often enough last year, professor,” said Hermione.

“If I may speak, headmaster?” said Professor Snape, his tone smooth. He knew from a quick glance that he had put Longbottom on edge the moment he started speaking. “Perhaps… Longbottom and his friends were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Neville looked at Professor Snape with a confused expression. He didn’t like where the Potions Master was going with it.

“We do, however, have a very suspicious set of circumstances here,” said Professor Snape, his upper lip curling. “Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren’t they at the Hallowe’en Feast?”

Neville instantly dove into an explanation of the Deathday Party and that there was a hundred or so ghosts that could agree to them being there. He sent Ron a glance, who just nodded, thankfully remaining silent.

Hermione bit her lip, not liking the fact that she was in trouble, even if she did nothing wrong.

“But why not join the feast afterwards?” said Professor Snape, prodding for more information as his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Why go up to that corridor?”

Neville felt every single eye land on him as he thought about an explanation in his head. Swallowing, he slowly twisted around the room, noting that no one was blinking. Not even Harry’s snake dared to blink. “Because we were – we were tired,” he started out lamely. “We really wanted to go to bed and just sleep it off.”

Hermione winced, knowing how far-fetched that story sounded. She was hoping that Neville would just tell the truth, especially to the headmaster, who he said understood him not even a week ago.

“Without any supper?” said Professor Snape, a triumphant smile flickered across his face as he studied the trio. “I had no idea that ghosts provided adequate food for living people at those parties.”

“Well –”

“We weren’t hungry,” said Ron, cutting off Neville. It was for naught as his stomach rumbled the instant that he thought about all the delicious food at the Hallowe’en Feast.

Hermione sighed.

Professor Snape’s slightly nasty smile widened even more when he heard the tell-tale signs of hunger. He sent the three of them a glare that told them he knew that they were lying and up to other things that they were hiding. “I suggest, headmaster, that Longbottom isn’t being entirely truthful,” he said, his tone silky. “It might be a good idea if he were to be deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest.”

“Really, Severus?” said Professor McGonagall, her tone sharp and filled with something akin to exasperation. “I see no valid reason for Mr. Longbottom to cease playing Quidditch. It’s not as if Mrs. Norris was hit over the head by Mr. Longbottom’s broomstick.”

Harry pushed himself off the wall and looked around the room, taking in everyone’s facial expressions. He knew that Longbottom would be terrified of being taken off the Quidditch team. Weasley was appalled on Longbottom’s behalf and Granger appeared to be happy just sighing as the events unfolded. “Let’s not be hasty, now, Professor Snape,” he said as he approached his Head of House. “If Longbottom is taken from the Gryffindor team, they may find a competent Seeker and that could spell disaster for our record.”

Professor McGonagall didn’t want to be pulled into childish games and just resorted to giving the Slytherin boy a disapproving look, which she sent to Professor Snape when the man snorted and nodded his head in agreement. “Mr. Potter,” she said, her lips in a thin line. “Let’s not start a debate about Quidditch, especially at such a dire time.”

“Regardless,” said Harry, nodding towards Professor McGonagall. “I highly doubt that Longbottom is an Occlumens and can hide his real memories behind fake ones. I saw nothing about him plotting or planning to do anything regarding the cat. In fact, I think he was just as surprised and upset as the rest of us.”

Ron wanted to say that everyone looked upset besides Potter, but wisely remained silent when Hermione sent him one of those looks.

Professor Snape looked as if he wanted to fight and get Longbottom in more trouble. “I agree with Mr. Potter,” he said reluctantly. “He is hardly ever wrong and his ability as a Legilimens surpasses most.”

“I highly suggest, headmaster, that you begin questioning those that weren’t at the Hallowe’en Feast or those that have been acting suspiciously lately,” said Harry, thinking back on how some students were acting. “I do remember seeing Weasley, the female, arriving at the crowd rather late and that her expression was set in fear before she even saw the cat – perhaps trying to form a fake expression before arriving?”

“HOW DARE YOU!”

“Thinking about it now, she did come from the girls’ bathroom just outside the door where the cat was petrified,” mused Harry, ignoring Ron Weasley’s outburst. “Perhaps she was simply cleaning the blood from her hands and snuck back out in the midst of chaos?”

“How dare you accuse my sister? You stupid – you slimy snake!” bellowed Ron, causing the room to jump slightly as his voice echoed off the wall.

“Perhaps you could allow me to have a look through her mind? This case could be put to rest almost instantly,” said Harry, looking amused. “If I remember correctly, she has been looking rather sick as of recent. Last year she was rather eager to come to Hogwarts to be with the great Neville Longbottom, and now? She’s missing home, even with ten other brothers currently attending the school.”

“Shut up, Potter!” shouted Ron, his tone just as loud as before. “She cannot talk to us about it as she’s a girl.”

“I assumed that you lot would share friends, seeing as you tend to share clothes, beds and everything else.”

“Mr. Potter,” warned Professor McGonagall.

“Sorry, professor,” said Harry, picking at his robe, flicking off invisible dirt. “Weasley has been looking a little sick recently, as I said before. It looks like magical exhaustion, as if she’s casting spells far beyond her level frequently.”

“Miss. Weasley is rather jumpy in potions,” said Professor Snape, thinking back to the lessons.

“It could be another possession,” said Harry. “Last year it was a professor… this year a student.”

“You think that You-Know-Who is controlling my sister?” said Ron, looking more enraged at that accusation than any other.

Harry ignored him and glanced out the window. “You know that these kind of shenanigans wouldn’t happen at Durmstrang,” he said with a long sigh.

During the entire conversation and accusations of Ginevra Weasley, Dumbledore had been sending Neville Longbottom frequent searching looks, hoping to find out what was going on. He knew that Harry Potter held animosity towards Neville and the Weasley family and he could be leading towards getting them in trouble by accusing the youngest sister. One thing he did know, however, was that Neville had nothing to do with the petrification of Mrs. Norris. “Innocent until proven guilty, Severus.”

Harry couldn’t help but mutter that they had already come to that conclusion and things were now being repeated. “Can we wrap this up? I have things to do.”

Dumbledore did wonder what the boy needed to do that was so urgent that it required the meeting about a petrified cat to be cut short. He turned his head slightly towards the boy and locked eyes. He was confused as it was almost like the boy was daring him to attempt to use Legilimency. With a swift entrance, he entered the boy’s mind. His first thought was that it was far too easy to enter, especially with how much Severus praised the boy’s ability as an Occlumens.

He slowly turned his eyes from the wall that flickered between a twilight and a sunrise. It was a breathtaking sight that the boy had made his Occlumency wall. It didn’t take much to realise that the wall was more prominently twilight rather than sunrise. Taking a step forward, he realised that his feet left the footfall of the twilight wall. Each step left a small black circle that exploded after a few seconds of movement.

He pulled out of the boy’s mind, confused, and sent the boy a look, which was returned with a triumphant grin.

Filch looked murderous. “My cat has been p-petrified!” he shrieked, his eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!”

“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore softly, his tone patient. “Professor Sprout has recently been able to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“I’ll make it, I must have done it a hundred times, and I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep,” said Professor Lockhart, interrupting the conversation as he did so. He winked at one of his portraits off to the side, as if there was an invisible photographer.

“Excuse me, but I believe I am the Potions Master at this school,” said Professor Snape icily. “Regardless, Mr. Potter will be assisting me with the potion, I don’t need any more people assisting me.”

Dumbledore broke the awkward silence and stare off between Professor Lockhart and Professor Snape with a clap. “You may go,” he said towards the four students and pet snake. He watched as the three Gryffindors pretty much sprinted from the room, trailing after each other with whispers. The Slytherin, however, was a little more subdued and waited for his snake to climb up his lip and rest over his shoulders before giving a curt nod and leaving the room in a confident stride.

The moments of silence were too much for Professor Snape, he glanced around and found that the only person who was fine with it was Lockhart. “Headmaster,” he said, his tone filled with annoyance. “How are we going to deal with this situation?”

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, relieved that someone broke the silence. “In all the years that you’ve known Mr, Potter, have you ever known him to have the ability to command snakes?”

“You think he’s a Parselmouth?” said Severus, looking concerned. “When I asked how to deal with the situation, I didn’t mean to discuss this.”

“I said command, my boy, not speak.”

“You cannot command snakes without speaking to them, Albus,” said Professor Snape.

“What about those snake charmers?” said Dumbledore, a knowing look on his face. “Wouldn’t that ruin your theory that Slytherin line were the only Parselmouths?”

“Fine,” said Professor Snape. “They were always around the boy, even when he was young. They tended to seek him out and just spend time with him. No matter what she done to keep them out, they always found a way in and near her son.”

“Interesting,” said Dumbledore. “And Nagini?”

“Only one that stayed with him. Nagini has been with him since he was about six, as you’re aware.”

“Curious,” said Dumbledore. “Perhaps my assumption was correct after all.”

“Your assumption?” barked Professor Snape. “What are you getting at, Albus?”

Dumbledore gave a gentle wave of his hand, which caused a few cups of tea to appear on Gilderoy Lockhart’s desk. He picked one up and gestured for everyone else to repeat the action. “As you’re aware, Severus, I learned a small amount of Parseltongue when I needed it. It took years of study, but in the end it did pay off,” he said, taking a sip. “Mr. Potter’s snake, Nagini, knows that I can understand the language and promptly informed him of such. There was more said, but that’s all I understood.”

“You mean to inform me that Nagini told Harry that you know snippets of Parseltongue?” said Professor Snape. “You cannot learn the language… it’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “With enough effort and dedication anything can be learned.”

“That boy has too much of a desire to know everything,” said Professor McGonagall, cradling her tea, “I wouldn’t ignore the idea that he has learned how to speak and understand the language.”

“Does this not concern you, Minerva?”

“Behind his mask of indifference he’s a bright and energetic child that thrives on learning,” said Professor McGonagall. “He has a dedication in studying that would even put Miss. Granger to shame.”

Professor Snape sighed. “I have a few potions to brew,” he said. “Despite everything that has happened tonight, I know that Harry’s snake wouldn’t have touched Mrs. Norris. The cat would be dead, not petrified.”

“What breed of snake does he have?” chimed in Professor Lockhart. “It certainly is unique.”

Professor Snape paused in his thinking of an ideal insult to use against the man and pondered the question. “I have no idea,” he said, his tone lacking the usual bite and bitterness that it held. “My best guess is that it’s magical and that’s as far as I know.”

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, looking off towards the side of the room. “Try and figure out if Mr. Potter can indeed speak to snakes. I’m sure he’ll be more careful now if he can.”

Professor Snape let out a sigh. “I’ll try, Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I must admit, I’m not sure how I missed this a while ago. Having a bond with Fawkes hasn’t allowed me to speak the tongue of the Phoenix, so he must be a Parselmouth.”

* * *

For the next few days, the Hogwarts rumour mill was in full force, causing a lot of students to gossip in the corridors, despite the threats of a detention. Different theories on the attacks were made and debunked on a daily basis. Most of the theories were centred on the Chamber of Secrets and the petrification of something living being required to open it. The school was abuzz with talk of Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat, and her role in the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

Filch, on the other hand, made sure that the incident was kept on everyone’s mind by his constant pacing on the spot where his precious Mrs. Norris was attacked and petrified. He was sure that the attacker would come back and reveal himself, allowing him to take great pleasure in their demise.

Alongside the rumours of Mrs. Norris was the rather persistent rumour that it was Harry Potter’s pet snake that had attacked Mrs. Norris with its highly potent and deadly venom that can petrify humans. It took a very steady and constant counterargument that Nagini couldn’t petrify anything as her venom would kill before anything else could happen.

It didn’t help any matters that Harry had threatened anyone who accused Nagini that she would bite them and prove that her venom couldn’t petrify.

The speech between Harry Potter and caretaker was spread around the school at a rapid rate, including the threats that Harry Potter had left against the man and his cat, which just revived the rumour about Harry Potter doing it. In the process of that particular rumour something was revealed that made a certain caretaker extremely angry and easily annoyed. Filch was a Squib. Ronald Weasley now had three months of detentions that weren’t questioned by any other professor. Students were getting afternoon detentions for doing such stupid things as ‘breathing loudly’ and ‘looking far too happy’.

Peeves had taunted Filch into tears almost daily, asking him how his cat was. Despite most of the school wanting to laugh, no one dared as the man was so furiously upset that he was shaking with rage.

Most people were still behind the rumour that it was none other than Harry Potter that wrote on the wall and petrified Mrs. Norris. Somehow people learned that he was an Occlumens and could hide any particular thought, memory or action that he had done without anyone knowing any better and that had everyone on edge. The fact that he was now both an Occlumens and a Legilimens had everyone on edge, no one daring to meet his eyes.

The downside, at least according to Harry, was that no one met his eyes, especially not Ginevra Weasley, so he couldn’t put it all together and find solid evidence that she had done it, despite this knowing feeling lurking in his stomach.

The upside was that Muggle-born students cowered and shook before the boy that could petrify them and read their thoughts by meeting their eyes. Every single Muggle-born student gave Harry Potter a wide berth.

Harry stood near a group of first-year Gryffindor students, who seemed to be quivering at his presence alone, as he tucked a book under his arm. He caught Theodore walking towards him and he instantly had a bad feeling about what was going to happen. ‘This isn’t going to be good,’ he thought constantly as Theodore drew closer and closer towards his position.

‘ _Stop standing there, you imbecile! Flee_!’ said Tom, his voice a rarity in these troubling times.

“My lord,” panted Theodore, dropping onto his knees and bowing his head as if he had done something wrong. “I’m so sorry, my liege, I was held up!”

“What are you doing?” hissed Harry, ignoring the gasp from the people around.

“I apologise, my lord,” said Theodore, lifting his head and making a show of meeting Harry’s eyes. “I found a target for your next petrification, my lord, a first-year Gryffindor.”

There was an ‘eep’ and then the sound of something dropping to the floor.

Both Harry and Theodore turned to find a first-year Gryffindor on the ground.

“Did you petrify him, my lord?” asked Theodore. “His presence was most overbearing.”

Harry didn’t say anything and just watched as a third-year Gryffindor snuck in and picked up the boy, sending him a fearful glance, as if apologising.

Theodore let out a barking laugh, his hands clasped around his sides. “Salazar!” he said. “Did you see their faces? I swear one of them wet themselves!”

Harry wasn’t sure whether he should be angry, confused, annoyed or disgusted at the fact that Theodore was correct and the boy that fainted had relieved his bladder in the library. “No, Theodore,” he said bluntly. “I didn’t see their faces because when I look at them they quiver in fear and focus on something else that isn’t me. That boy wet himself just himself with the small discussion we had. I’m sure that if he was forced to remain their anymore than he had, he would have done it just to get by me without offending me.”

Theodore snickered.

“I know that this may be funny to you, Theo, but it’s hindering me in every single possible way,” said Harry, looking concerned. “If a cat wasn’t petrified, and this was done as a joke, I’d be laughing along with you, but one was and it’s making this joke seem real and they think I’m some sort of future Voldemort in the making. If I was in any other house besides Slytherin, I would have already been torn to shreds.”

Theodore sent Harry an abashed look and murmured his apology before talking to him with what he actually needed to talk about before he made a first-year student wet themselves in the middle of the library. He needed some severe help with his History of Magic assignment, which he should have started and completed ten days ago. “Come on, Harry, we have History of Magic,” he said sadly as the bell rang during his pleading.

History of Magic was hardly that, instead it was the dullest subject most students came to study, even detention with Professor Snape would have been more preferable than the lesson. The most exciting part of the lesson was when Professor Binns entered the classroom by floating though the blackboard. Marking the role was pointless as the names weren’t correct and anyone could answer and he would mark it as present, allowing any student to skip class if he or she really wanted. Most students used this class to catch up on sleep or do other classes work during the useless period of a lesson.

Professor Binns had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand. He glanced up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed. “Miss – er –”

“Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione in a clear voice. She heard a head slam into a table and a few soft curse words and another knee being slammed into the underside of the table. On the Gryffindor side she saw Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown’s head came up off her arms and Neville’s elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked, looking just as confused as most of the students. “My subject is History of Magic,” he said in his usual dry, wheezy tone of voice. “I deal with facts, Miss. Granger, not myths and legends.”

Hermione watched the ghost with pursed lips. She was unsure whether or not she should continue with her questions or just leave it and wait for Transfiguration, knowing that Professor McGonagall would be a much better person to ask.

Professor Binns cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued. “In September of that year, a sub-committee of Sardinian sorcerers –” he stuttered to a halt. Hermione’s hand was waving in the air again. “Miss. Grant?”

Hermione didn’t correct the name, instead she smiled at the ghost. “Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”

Professor Binns looked at the girl with such amazement. “Well, yes, one could argue that, I suppose,” he said slowly, his voice still sounding like a vacuum. He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. “However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale…” he looked around and noticed that the whole class was now hanging on his every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. “Oh, very well, let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…”

Harry couldn’t hold the snort and looked around, concern showing on his face when he realised that everyone was hanging from the ghost’s word. It was ludicrous. He glanced around some more and realised that even some of the Slytherins were intrigued on the ghost and what idiocy it was spewing. Thankfully some of the Slytherins had a brain and utilised it.

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution,” said Professor Binns, pausing for a moment, he gazed blearily around the room, and continued. “For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school –”

“I have no idea what part of that ludicrous tale to actually correct,” said Harry, interrupting the ghost. “Salazar Slytherin never left the school because of Godric Gryffindor or because he only wanted pure-blood students to attend. You’ll learn that those phrases regarding blood were coined after the four founders’ deaths. In fact, Salazar left the school because his wife was dying due to issues in the pregnancy that she couldn’t recover from. He never returned to the school because he had to look after his only son and wanted to spend his wife’s remaining time alive by her side.”

Professor Binns paused, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. “Reliable historical sources tell us this much, but these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing,” he said, completely ignoring whatever the boy had said just seconds ago. “Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic –”

“While I can assure you, the Chamber of Secrets does exist, it does not house a monster to purge the school of those unfit to study magic,” said Harry. “You must realize the founders were around at a time where witches and wizards were actively hunted and killed by Muggles, therefore Salazar’s prejudice comes from those times, but he never wanted to purge the school. That’s a rumour started by Gryffindors, I’m sure of it.”

Once again, Professor Binns ignored the boy who interrupted him, despite the fact he wanted to ask where the boy got his history from. He glanced around and realized a lot of the class looked rather uneasy about what was just said. He soon realized that people were watching him, hoping for more information. “The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course. Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.”

Hermione’s hand was back in the air. “Sir – what exactly do you mean by the _horror within_ the Chamber?”

“That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the heir of Slytherin alone can control,” said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice. He watched as the class exchanged nervous looks. “I tell you, the thing does not exist. There is no Chamber and no monster.”

Harry sighed and tried to tune out the idiots. He looked at Draco who looked more pale than usual. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, honestly.”

“But, sir, if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?” asked Seamus Finnigan, his expression betraying none of the fear he had.

“Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing –”

Parvati Patil took this as her chance to get some information, hoping to catch out on how to get into the Chamber of Secrets. “But, Professor, you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it –”

“Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic, doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss. Pennyfeather,” snapped Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore –”

“But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t –” began Dean Thomas, he paused when he noticed the furious expression on the ghost’s face.

Professor Binns had had enough. “That will do, it is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!” he said sharply. And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.


	15. A Darkly Detailed Description of the Darkest Dark Arts

Chapter 15 – **A Darkly Detailed Description of the Darkest Dark Arts**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 15/May/2016_

* * *

“I always knew that Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” said Ron, his voice carrying over the soft discussion of other students, as he, Neville and Hermione fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. “But I had no idea that it was him who started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn’t be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I would have got the train straight back home.”

“Now, now, Weasley,” said Harry, walking behind the trio with a smirk on his face. “Did you not understand what I had said during the class?”

“Not really…”

“You see, the Chamber of Secrets does exist,” said Harry, his voice laced with mystery. “Its purpose, however, isn’t to purge the school of unfit Muggleborn students.”

“And how do you know that?” said Ron, his eyes narrowed.

“Because I have common sense.”

“It makes no sense,” said Hermione, pausing near a wall. “I mean, enemies of the heir? It has to be Slytherin.”

“Yes, Granger, we have come to that conclusion,” said Harry, his tone as if he was speaking to a child. “Salazar Slytherin finished just weeks before he fled the castle and spent his remaining time alive raising his son and tending to his wife. Salazar did kill plenty of Muggles, all in self-defence and for the protection of his son. How do you think you they obtained this castle?”

“They built it,” said Hermione. “It says so in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

“Of course you did.”

“What does that mean, Potter?” snapped Ron.

“I just meant that of course she read it in that particular book that was written,” said Harry. “Bathilda Bagshot may be a talented writer, but she writes without facts and quite often exaggerates small points.”

Hermione glared.

“Oh well,” said Harry, shrugging it off. “The point is that Helga, Salazar, Godric and Rowena attacked and sieged this castle before pulling most of it down and rebuilding it, pushing their own magic into the building.”

“That makes no sense,” said Hermione, sniffing. “How could four people siege a castle?”

“How could people build a castle by themselves in one lifetime?” said Harry, embracing the feeling of confusion in Granger. He knew that she now had doubts as his reason sounded more believable. “If I recall correctly, Godric killed the most Muggles while taking over the castle.”

“That’s not true!” snapped Ron, his mind refusing the information that Godric Gryffindor killed people. “Godric Gryffindor was a good man.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “I hate to be the person that crushes your blind faith in Godric Gryffindor but he wasn’t as good or pure as you hoped. Godric Gryffindor was a duelling champion in his age, frequently challenging other witches and wizards to duels. He killed more people than you think. That sword that he has by his side wasn’t just there for show. He used to use it to decapitate his opponents.”

“Mr. Potter.”

Ron smirked, knowing that Professor McGonagall would put Potter in his place for badmouthing Godric Gryffindor and calling him a murder.

“Ten points to Slytherin for above average knowledge about the age of the four founders,” said Professor McGonagall. “However, I suggest not being so blunt regarding the case.”

The smirk on Ron’s face morphed into a very nasty looking frown and the tips of his ears tinged red when Potter smirked at him as if he knew that it would happen. He listened as Professor McGonagall continued on with the discussion, stating that Godric Gryffindor was never once beaten and that the man didn’t just waltz up to his enemies and cut their heads off. Of course Potter ruined his good mood instantly by debunking the rumour that Godric remained undefeated.

“Salazar beat Godric plenty of times in duels,” said Harry. “Of course, never in an official duel or a recorded one. The animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor comes from the fact that those two always fought, no matter on what it was about. What to eat, what to teach, what to wear…”

“Whether or not to teach the Dark Arts…”

Harry ignored Weasley. “Did you know, Weasley, that Salazar and Godric were lovers?”

“WHAT?”

“Oh my yes.”

“Mr. Potter,” warned Professor McGonagall. “You know that is false as they both had wives and were both highly loyal to their families.”

“I know,” said Harry, grinning. “It’s just amusing to see Weasley’s reaction. See, he’s still unsure of how to function.”

Hermione nudged Ron as Professor McGonagall sent both boys a disapproving glance.

“Ooh! Am I hearing a debate about the four founders?” squeaked Professor Flitwick, who had just weaved by the small group and stood next to Professor McGonagall. “It’s been so many years since someone had started a nice debate about the deeds and things the founders had done in their age! Far too many simply reference _Hogwarts: A History_ and leave it at that. Tell me, Mr. Potter, what do you know about Rowena?”

Harry paused, allowing Granger to brood in the fact a professor had just almost insulted the book she referenced almost daily. “Not as much as I know about Salazar, Helga and Godric. Rowena is a sore spot for the Baron and the portraits in the Slytherin common room tend to focus on Slytherins only. I know that Rowena had a daughter named Helena, who died in another place, mere moments before Rowena died herself,” he said sadly, knowing that the Ravenclaw line was extinct in both male and female lines. “I know that Rowena was very, very clever and often utilised her intelligence for the good of the other three founders, making sure they were prepared for every scenario, which required some help from Salazar. Cunning and wisdom, a formidable duo.”

“I’d award you points, Mr. Potter, but it appears that Minerva beat me to it,” said Professor Flitwick cheerfully. “The Grey Lady – better known as Helena Ravenclaw – spends most of her time in the Ravenclaw common room, frequently passing through the walls and off to Merlin-knows-where.”

Hermione looked to be on the verge of asking questions, seeing as the Gryffindor common room seemed to be quite bland compared to the Slytherin common room, which had portraits and other things and the Ravenclaw had Helena Ravenclaw wandering around. She watched the two professors bid their farewells and turn and walk away, continuing the discussion.

Before anyone could so much as mutter a word, a small boy with a camera bigger than his chest came barging towards them. “Hiya, Neville!” said the small boy, who was called Colin. He clicked the button on his camera and a flash of bright light illuminated the slightly dim corridor.

Harry scowled. “Must you flash that pathetic piece of plastic in my face? You imbecile!” he huffed and spun on the spot, heading towards the dungeons.

“Just ignore him,” said Neville, watching as Harry retreated. “How’s it going, Colin?”

Colin huffed, catching his breath. “Neville – Neville – a boy in my class has been saying that –” he was shoved towards the Great Hall by the large group of students, his small frame not putting up any ground towards the onslaught of bodies. “See you, Neville!” he squeaked and then vanished from sight.

“What’s a boy in his class saying?” questioned Hermione, looking between the spot that Colin had just been shoved from and Neville. “Well?”

Neville looked nervous. “There’s these rumours going around about Harry,” he started, wincing when he realised Hermione got this look on her face. “People believe Harry to be the heir of Slytherin and that it’s him that petrified Mrs. Norris.”

“But –” began Hermione before stopping when she noticed Ron itching to speak.

“Did you hear about how Nott called him his lord?” asked Ron, looking excited. “In the middle of the library and then – and then he attacked a Gryffindor!”

Hermione sighed. “You have it all wrong!” she said, huffing. “This happened earlier today and it’s already being twisted. Potter scolded Nott for what he did and the first-year Gryffindor urinated in fear because of Potter, not because he was attacked.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because I just so happened to be in the library when it happened.”

“Back on topic,” said Neville, not wanting to talk about the current subject. “People think that it’s Harry that’s opened the Chamber of Secrets. It doesn’t really help that Harry is a Legilimens, an Occlumens and is in Slytherin.”

“Let’s not forget that he has a snake,” added Ron. “Though, I don’t think that it’s right. People’ll believe anything you tell them. Potter being Slytherin’s heir? I’d bet all my Galleons on Malfoy.”

“Don’t be silly, Ron, he’s twelve,” said Hermione. “I doubt that it’s Potter or Malfoy – in fact, I think it’d be one of the older students.”

“Do you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” asked Ron, sending Hermione a slightly nervous look.

“Potter seemed adamant that one existed,” said Hermione. “If anyone would know – at least in the school – it would be him.”

“WHAT!”

“Don’t yell, Ron,” said Hermione. “Potter talks to the Bloody Baron, who was a student here when the four founders were teaching. I read about it in –”

“ _Hogwarts: A History_ ,” said Neville and Ron.

“Yes,” said Hermione. “If Potter talks to the Baron, then he would know a lot about Hogwarts and what’s gone down. It explains why he was so determined that the Chamber existed but no monster was in it.”

“So what’re we gonna do?”

“I don’t understand,” said Hermione, ignoring Ron, who was gaping at her. “Why would Potter freely announce there’s a Chamber of Secrets when he’s being accused of it?”

“Harry can be very hot-headed and rash when he’s annoyed,” said Neville. “If you annoy him, he tends to do or say things that he shouldn’t, despite his talent in Occlumency and his sheer intelligence. It’s a flaw that Lily has exploited over the years when he was hiding things from him.”

“As for the Chamber of Secrets?” said Hermione, getting the subject from Potter. “I have no idea. Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be – well – human.”

The trio spoke a little more before they found themselves on the first floor, just at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message: _The Chamber has been opened_.

“That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” said Ron, turning around to face Neville and Hermione. “I’m a little amazed he isn’t here now.”

Hermione and Neville turned to peek down the corridor where Mrs. Norris was petrified. They each noticed one odd thing. The corridor was completely deserted.

“It can’t hurt if we have a quick look around, can it?” said Neville, dropping his bag near the wall so that he could drop onto his hands and knees without it getting in the way. “Surely everyone else missed something around here.”

“I don’t think anyone really looked,” said Ron, copying Neville’s actions of scurrying around on the floor. “Dumbledore came and then left with us in tow.”

Neville saw something up a few meters and quickly shuffled towards it. “There’s scorch marks here!” he said, moving up some more. “There’s some more here – and up here.”

“Come and look at this!” said Hermione, her tone filled with urgency.

Neville jumped up, thinking that Hermione had a good lead and quickly made his way over towards the glass window that she was gesturing at. “What is it?” he asked, squinting at the window.

“It’s funny – quick, come look!”

“I don’t –”

“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” asked Hermione, pointing at the masses of spiders. “I’ve never read about spiders acting this way – it’s like they’re afraid.”

True to her word, Neville looked more carefully and looked at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack in the glass. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside. “No… I haven’t,” he said, staring at the spiders. “Have you seen spiders act like this, Ron?”

“I – don’t – like – spiders!” said Ron, his tone tense. “You know this, Neville!”

“I know…” said Neville, feeling somewhat bad for gesturing his friend over to look at them. “I just wanted another opinion, Ron.”

“I actually never knew that. You’ve used spiders in potions loads of times,” said Hermione, surprised. She began to retell the a few potions that have used dead spiders and even a few that required them alive, which caused both Ron and Neville to shudder.

“You know, I don’t really mind them dead,” said Ron, shoving from the wall, a look of terror etched onto his face. He was about five steps away from the spiders and planned to remain that distance away. “I just don’t like the way they move around.”

Hermione giggled.

“It’s not funny,” said Ron, his ears tinged bright red. “If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my – my teddy bear into a dirty great spider because I broke his toy broomstick. You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear, then suddenly it had too many legs and...”

Hermione giggled, even as Ron broke off into shuddering mumbling about spiders. “It is fine, Ron, everyone has different fears. Some are afraid of heights, others the dark and some spiders.”

“Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone’s mopped it up.”

Ron sent Neville an appreciative glance before walking a few paces forwards. “It was about here – if I remember correctly – yeah, here,” he said, stopping at the door. “Level with this door – at least I think it was – yeah it was.”

Neville was humming along when he saw Ron yank his hand away from a door. “What’s wrong, Ron?”

“Was there a spider on the door?” said Hermione, looking as if she might collapse in laughter.

Neville sent Hermione a confused glance. He hadn’t ever heard Hermione speak like that before. “Ron?” he asked when he noticed his best friend spluttering at the door.

“We can’t go in there!” said Ron, his cheeks tonged a bright red, his voice increased slightly. “That’s a girls’ toilet.”

“Oh, Ron, there won’t be anyone in there,” said Hermione, picking herself up off the ground, which she had only just knelt down to look at something, and walked over towards the two boys who were staring at the doorknob. “That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look!” she ignored the large _out of order_ sign on the door and the protests from Ron and Neville about walking into a girls’ toilet.

Neville glanced around and supressed a shudder, the room was the gloomiest, most depressing room he had ever seen, and that’s saying something about this castle that he’s currently attending. Under a large, cracked and spotted mirror were a row of chipped, stone sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the cubicles were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers on her lips and set off towards the end cubicle, her footsteps were soft and she made barely any noise. “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?” she whispered towards the ghost.

Neville crept forwards, Ron followed him just as silently. When they reached the spot where Hermione was standing, they came face to face with a ghost, who was floating on the cistern of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. He sent Hermione a curious glance and opened his mouth to say something.

“This is the girls’ bathroom!” said Myrtle, eyeing Ron and Neville suspiciously. “They’re not girls!”

“Of course they aren’t,” said Hermione in a soft tone, as if she didn’t want to spook or startle the ghost. “I just wanted to show them how nice it is in here,” she waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

Neville leant in close to Hermione. “Please ask her if she saw anything,” he whispered, not taking his eyes from the ghost.

“What are you whispering?”

“Nothing at all, Myrtle,” said Neville quickly. “We just wanted to –”

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” screeched Myrtle, her eyes began to brim with transparent tears. Her voice became choked as she stared at the girl and two boys. “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead.”

“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione quickly, trying to diffuse the argument which was just about to start. “Neville just wanted –”

“No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howled Myrtle, her howls caused the three people in her bathroom to cover their ears. “My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”

“We just wanted to ask you if you’d seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione, stopping the ghost from going into one of her fits. “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Hallowe’en.”

“So? Did you see anyone near here that night?” asked Ron.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” said Myrtle rather dramatically, she gave a slight howl. “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m – that I’m –”

“Already dead?” finished Ron, hoping to speed up everything.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over and dived head first into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight; from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Neville and Ron just stood there with their mouths open, water dripping from their faces. Neither knew what to do or say regarding that matter.

Hermione shrugged wearily, glancing at the two boys with slight amusement. “Funnily enough, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. Come on, let’s go,” she said, closing the door to down out Myrtle’s gurgling sobs. She was about to twist backwards and smile at Neville and Ron when a voice startled her.

“RON!” the voice belonging to the unknown person boomed throughout the girls’ bathroom.

Ron made a strangled sound and turned around, glancing up the small set of steps. “Percy,” he said softly, almost in a whisper.

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam. He had an expression of complete shock on his face. “That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasped. “What are you doing?”

Harry walked around the corner, appearing behind Percy Weasley with a cold smirk. “Peeking up skirts, Weasley? That’s not a good thing to do now, is it,” he said and then turned towards Percy Weasley. “I knew that they would be in here, honestly. You three should be thankful that I didn’t send Professor Snape – he’s been looking for a valid reason to rid the school of you three and you lot being back at the scene of the crime? That’s about as expel worthy as it gets.”

“Shut up, Potter!” bellowed Ron, his face matching his hair. “I wasn’t peeking up anyone’s skirt!”

“Oh! I’m sorry that I made the wrong assumption! Were you looking down Longbottom’s pants? Not that I’d judge you based on that – I’m a very open person, you know and wouldn’t dare hold that against you,” said Harry dramatically. He made a move towards the four Gryffindors with a slight smirk. “After all, in the Slytherin common room, we frequently hold various competitions on who has the biggest –”

Percy coughed. “Potter, don’t you have somewhere else to be, rather than prowling around in the girls’ bathroom?” he said, trying to fight the smirk that was appearing on his face. “I can handle this situation. Thank you for informing me, Potter.”

Harry had a surprised look on his face for all of a second before he lifted his arm dramatically and looked at the invisible watch that sat on it, a concerned expression appearing on his face. “Oh my, yes!” he gasped, turning towards Percy. “I’m missing the biweekly competition! I thank you, Percival Ignatius Weasley! You have done me a great favour and stopped me from missing out on the action.”

Ron watched Potter turn and leave the room in a very Snape-like fashion, which unnerved him. “Honestly, Percy, calm down,” he said, trying to get his mind off Potter acting like Snape. “We were just having a look around – for clues, you know.”

Percy rounded on Ron, his chest puffed out, his nose pointed down at the boy. “Get. Away. From. There,” he said, as he started to chivvy them along, flapping his arms. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner…”

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” said Ron hotly, his hands began to shake on his side, he glared at his brother with everything he could muster up. “Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”

“That’s what I told Ginny!” said Percy fiercely. “But she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled; I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out. You might think of her, all the first-years are thoroughly over-excited by this business –”

“You don’t care about Ginny!” shouted Ron at his brother, the tips of his ears were reddening at a rapid rate, his breathing became slightly hoarse and he panted somewhat as he shouted. “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy.”

“Five points from Gryffindor!” said Percy tersely, he fingered his prefect badge in the process. His eyed landed on Neville and Hermione for a brief second before they fell back onto Ron. “I seriously hope that this whole situation teaches you a lesson! No – more – detective – work! I mean it, Ron! If you keep it up, I’ll write to mum.”

Neville gave Ron a worried look, knowing what Molly was like.

* * *

Harry made his way back towards the Slytherin common room with practiced ease. He avoided every other Prefect that were lurking around, although, most seemed to be focused on the area that Mrs. Norris was attacked in. He whispered the password, which just so happened to be the name of a potion ingredient, which meant that one of the Prefects forgot to change it and it was set by Professor Snape. He stepped into the nicely decorated room and saw a group of fourth-years huddled in a small group, circled around something, chatting aimlessly. Another group, near a fireplace, were studying heavily, hopping to achieve something.

He slipped through the room and pushed open the door that led into the second year boys’ dormitory. He swiftly moved towards his bed, moving silently, and picked up the bundle of clothes that were his pyjamas. He walked towards the lavatory to get ready for bed, not that he would be sleeping anytime soon as he had a book to read before he could even think of embracing sleep.

He stepped out of the lavatory feeling refreshed and highly relaxed, perfect for reading. He made his way towards his bed and dug around in his trunk, searching for the book that he wanted to read. Making sure he had the right book, he closed his trunk and slowly sat on his bed, yanking the curtains shut as he dropped onto his pillow. He lit the candle above his pillow and smirked as he opened the dark book.

_A Darkly Detailed Description of the Darkest Dark Arts  
Volume 1 – An Introduction._

_The Dark Arts can be highly alluring to those that have a strong affinity for them or aren’t sound in mind. Contrary to belief, not everyone has the ability to learn the Dark Arts proficiently. If you have the ability to learn them, then you would have felt a decent pull towards this very book and the future parts of the book. You needn’t worry about other people scratching at your trunk or bookcases to read the books, due to a pull in the mind, as the pull will only be in effect if you know where the books are located and what they’re about—no guesswork. You must be one hundred percent certain._

_Remaining to close to the books can cause some issues as the pull towards them will be stronger and will often enough cause your emotions to spike, making you far more prone to outbursts of the negative nature. It is highly recommended that you store these away from your bed and not leave them where you spend any long periods of time._

_Some caution must be explained before you casually flip through the books to learn spells that’ll make your enemies suffer, your opponents beg for mercy and grant you the power you so rightfully deserve. You must learn to have control. You must have power of the Dark Arts and make it know that it’s you that is in charge, not the thrill of the power. The vicious pull of the Dark Arts could make even the strongest willed man cave in pressure. If you get lost in the madness of the Dark Arts, you’ll become insane and there will be no hope for you._

_The first step is to read up on as much theory as you can, leave the practical side until much later. This book will explain all the theory you need. You are free to pursue other books, however. The second volume will provide a few hexed and a fair amount of ‘grey’ spells. This is so that you can slowly ease into the Dark Arts and the chances of you going insane are slim to none._

_Page 1 – 14: An Introduction | Page 15 – 24:_ Basic Legilimency  
Page 25 – 32: Basic Occlumency | Page 33 – 41: Basic Spell Manipulation  
Page 42 – 72: History of the Dark Arts | Page 73 – 115: Common Theory  
Page 116 – 189: Moderate Legilimency | Page 190 – 257: Moderate Occlumency  
Page 258 – 407: Light Magic | Page 408 – 565: Grey Magic  
Page 566 – 711: Misconceptions of the Dark Arts | Page 712 – 982: Benefits of the Dark Arts

Harry’s eyes went wide at the sheer amount of detail in one book. He realised that the chapters started of small and got bigger and bigger as they went on, which confused him a little bit. He quickly learned that it was to help ease people into the Dark Arts and not just thrust them with hundreds of pages of information. He quickly flicked to the next page to read more.

_If you’re not in Slytherin, you’ll have a hard time trying to practice the Dark Arts as you age—despite the fact that Salazar Slytherin supposedly built plenty of hidden rooms that will only appear if you wish to practice in the Dark Arts. That information is rumoured, however. If you are in Slytherin, the entire dungeon is littered in a ward that nullifies alerts of dark magic sent to the headmaster, which was added by Salazar Slytherin’s great-great-great grandson._

_Before you begin casting dark magic, assuming you’ve read this entire book at least twice, you must make sure the trace has been removed from you. Some assume that it’s on the wand, but no maker of wands would ever limit a wizards potential. The trace is applied at King’s Cross station—the entrance has a one-time applying spell that applies it to anyone who has never passed through before and is younger than seventeen. Luckily for you, a spell has been invented to check if the trace is still active._

_The incantation to check if you still have the trace is: Reprehendo Vestigium. Point your wand at yourself and say the simple words and wait. If you feel a slight buzzing after the spell has been cast, then you still have the trace. If you feel nothing, then the trace is gone. Once you have done this, avoid the British Ministry of Magic as the trace will reactive once you enter it._

Harry huffed out a breath and pulled out his wand and aimed it at his own chest. “Reprehendo Vestigium!” he said softly, just above a whisper and waited. He was confused when nothing happened.

_I really hope that you weren’t foolish enough to point your wand at yourself and cast a spell, especially one from a Dark Arts book. That could have been a lethal curse and you could be dead on the ground right now. Lesson one: read everything in the chapter at least twice before attempting to cast a spell._

_Before you throw the book down and rush away off, trying to remove the trace from all your friends, you should know a few simple things. This book is attuned to you and only you. It’s no mere coincidence that the book seems to cover your interests. Anything that is underlined has been altered to suit you and your interests. The spell to check the trace is unique to every single person as that’s how the trace works._

Harry couldn’t help but snort as he got up and tucked the book back in his trunk. He had barely gotten through the introductory section when the clock revealed that it was almost eleven o’clock at night. He was somewhat confused on where the time went as dinner had felt like it was ten minutes ago.

“ **Youngling** ,” hissed Nagini, watching as her youngling just put his head on the pillow. She enjoyed harassing him greatly. “ **What are we going to do about the old man that knows you can speak to me**?”

“ **He cannot prove anything, Nagini, even if he somehow learns that you and I communicate, he cannot connect me to the Chamber of Secrets** ,” hissed Harry, sitting up. “ **I have made sure that I have a constant alibi – even if it isn’t me that did it**.”

“ **I know where the Chamber of Secrets is, youngling**.”

Harry sat up and stared at Nagini in disbelief. “ **And you haven’t yet informed me**?”

“ **If everything goes wrong, I’ll take you there** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **We can hide in there until the dramatics have worn off**.”

“ **How do you even know where the Chamber of Secrets is**?”

“ **I am a snake, youngling, I am naturally wise and very intelligent**.”

“ **Is it in an obvious place**?” asked Harry, hoping that it was and he could find it in a few days.

“ **It’s in a painfully obvious place – is that what you humans say**?” hissed Nagini. “ **It’s in the most ridiculous place! From what I have gathered, it has been moved since its original placement**.”

“ **Hmm**.”

“ **I’ll give you a hint, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets lacks snakes**.”

“ **That makes no – so the Chamber of Secrets is around a place where no other snakes are**?” hissed Harry, confused. He repeated it a few times and was still in the same position as before. “ **You know, you could just tell me where it is**.”

“ **The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is where no snakes are, or should be, youngling, use your brain** ,” hissed Nagini with what sounded like a laugh. “ **If I told you, we would not be having such entertainment at the moment**.”

“ **That makes no sense! I thought you said you can go anywhere with limitations as you’re quote the best snake and should not be hindered by petty humans end quote** ,” hissed Harry in reply, enjoying this discussion vastly, especially when he can use things that Nagini does not understand.

“ **Quote? End quote**?” hissed Nagini, confused. “ **What is this madness, youngling?** **Let humans butcher their own language with such things, do not butcher mine. I will bite you and put you to sleep for a week, which will serve you right**!” she watched as her human laughed at her, the audacity! “ **Don’t laugh**!”

Harry felt Nagini’s fangs brush against his arm and he hastened to stifle his laughter. “ **I’m – I’m sorry Nagini but – it’s funny – please**!” he hissed out between laughing, he would not say he giggled, as he did not giggle. “ **Come on, Nagini… it was funny**!”

“ **It was not funny! What’s funny is the fact you cannot work out a simple clue towards where the Chamber of Secrets is located. Now that’s funny** ,” hissed Nagini, lifting her head towards the roof. “ **Have you seen anything else that’s odd, youngling**?”

“ **I haven’t, except for the fact that a lot of the professors are on edge. Do you think this has happened before**?” asked Harry, looking at Nagini suspiciously. “ **If it has, it would be good to know, that way I can do some research on the matter**.”

“ **Not that I’m aware, youngling, but I do know for a fact that the Chamber of Secrets does exist. But the monster within is surely fiction, I doubt something would survive this long without dying, it’d have to be almost millennium in age** ,” hissed Nagini disapprovingly. “ **It makes no sense, nothing can live that long and not die of old age, even a snake**.”

“ **Yes, I came to the same conclusion today in History of Magic** ,” hissed Harry. “ **Of course, you know that as you were there**.”

“ **That ghost is a disgrace, as is the one who wails about dying all the time. If I could bite them and drive them away, I would**.”

Harry laughed at the haughty tone that Nagini used.

“ **Youngling, try a Ghost Banishing Charm on the History of Magic professor, do it**.”

“ **What’s the incantation**?” asked Harry, already liking the idea of getting rid of the ghost and then he could blame it on Weasley or Longbottom.

“ **Spell doesn’t exist, youngling, you would have to make it. I trust in your abilities** ,” Hissed Nagini. “ **I’m sure a charm like it exists, you could just take that spell and alter it**.”

“ **So you want me to create a spell to banish a ghost in how long? A few months**?” questioned Harry, his eyes locked onto Nagini’s eyes. “ **Is it even possible to create a spell in two or so months**?”

“ **Just edit the other spell and make the ghost vanish. How hard could that be**?”

“ **That is highly short-sighted of you, Nagini. If that was the case then it would have already been made. In fact, I’d have to alter each part of the spell and find a location to send the ghost and then bind it there. In fact, creating this very spell almost seems impossible, if not, then it will take years to work out and perfect**.”

“ **I stand by what I said before, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini, she slithered over Harry’s body and rested her head just near Harry’s chin. “ **Just make up some words and say them and point at the ghost with your stick, how simple. You make it seem more complicated and boring than it already is. If this was a book, you would be the least liked character**.”

“ **I doubt it** ,” replied Harry as calmly as he possibly could. “ **Trust me when I say that, Nagini, I’m highly interesting, if I was in a book, people would fawn over me and my accomplishments**.”

Nagini gave a snake-like snort and flicked out her tongue in a manner that would make most humans frown and run away from her screaming as they did so. “ **The only book you’d be in, youngling, is a book on jokes**.”

Harry gaped at his companion for a brief moment, his eyes widened in surprise at how disrespectful Nagini could actually be, even with her awful knowledge on what humans do. He pushed back on his comfortable bed and acted as if he was ignoring her, a mock expression of hurt shone on his face. He studied Nagini carefully, noticing that she had really grown in the years he had her. “ **Nagini, why haven’t you grown? You’re the same size as you were when I was six**.”

“ **Maybe because I decided that I would grow with you, but you do not appear to be growing, so your own damaged growing ability is hindering me** ,” hissed Nagini softly, her tongue flicked against Harry’s cheek. “ **I grow alongside you, youngling, I’m a magical snake, not a natural one. I was created with by nothing but magic, and a few other things. When you became my servant, and I the master, I attuned to your magic. If you grow, I grow, if you die, I die… unless you release me, of course**.”

“ **I see, I’ll have to do some research on the matter, and what do you mean, I’m not growing? I’m growing**!”

“ **No, you’re not, master, you’ve had me for six years, correct? However, I haven’t aged at all** ,” hissed Nagini softly. “ **You do not age properly, you also do not match the age of your peers, the blond one looks older than you. You still look like you’re a child**.”

“ **I don’t look like a child**!” replied Harry in a very child-like manner, he winced after he did it but held firm. “ **But I grew normally until I was six then**?”

“ **Why are you asking me? If you actually age more slowly, I’ll be around to boss you around for longer** ,” hissed Nagini in reply, her cold nose pressed against Harry’s chin. “ **I have no explanation, it would be wise for you to ask other humans and not a snake, we may be smart, but I learn almost everything from you**.”

Harry sat up and pet Nagini’s head for a minute before he finally spoke. “ **Alright, I’ll see if Nicolas Flamel knows anything about it. Speaking of being younger than I actually am, it explains why a lot of people assume I’m still a child, anyone who doesn’t actually know my age thinks I’m not as young as I should be. If I wasn’t exactly twelve, then I wouldn’t have yet been invited to Hogwarts**.”

“ **If you wish, youngling** ,” replied Nagini. “ **If this keeps happening you’ll look eleven while your blonde nest mate will look much older**.”

“ **Draco isn’t my nest mate, we’re just friends**!” replied Harry with a huff before his face turned into something more serious than the playful expression he held just seconds before. “ **Last year, Voldemort was in this very castle – stealing something – do you think that he could attempt to try again or is that simply a bad thing to do? I mean clearly he isn’t dead if he was around last year. I mean he wasn’t really defeated in battle right? The way he supposedly died has never been done before**.”

“ **Why was he in the castle, youngling**?” asked Nagini, tilting her head slightly. “ **Was he after something or someone**?”

“ **He was after a stone, the Philosopher’s Stone exactly. I have this item, an item he was seeking. Am I his enemy now if I have it or will he just ignore me**?” questioned Harry, the familiar questions were those that he asked himself often during the summer holidays. “ **If Voldemort isn’t dead, then where does it leave us? Another war or something worse**?”

“ **I’m not sure, youngling, if you have something he wants, then I suggest you keep a secret, tell no one** ,” hissed Nagini. She slithered down the bed and wrapped around herself on the foot on Harry’s bed. “ **It wouldn’t be wise to overthink this whole situation. You would be better off thinking on who could possibly open the Chamber of Secrets, not what’s happening with this Voldemort man, the Chamber is more important and the Voldemort man is not connected with this**.”

“ **I guess you’re right, Nagini** ,” hissed Harry seriously for a moment before dropping his head back onto the pillow. “ **Goodnight, Nagini**.”

“ **I’m always right, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini with a snake-like laugh. “ **Goodnight, youngling**.”

Harry closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come instantly. Instead he allowed his mind to go over the information he had learned and slowly filtered it out into its respective places, much like a Muggle sorting cabinet. He briefly wondered where the Chamber of Secrets was. Something where snakes shouldn’t go or shouldn’t be, that make no sense at all. Was the Chamber of Secrets on the roof? He snorted and wondered if the entrance was in the Black Lake somewhere, a snake wouldn’t really attempt and shouldn’t attempt to go there, but some snakes are water snakes and can swim.

He kept his eyes closed and felt the gentle tug that was sleep pulling at him. He quickly went over with that he learned in the Dark Arts book from T.M Riddle, he still had no idea who that was, besides Professor Quirrell, which seemed unlikely as someone could have eavesdropped on the conversation between Professor Quirrell and him and just made up that name. The name was common and didn’t scream an alias, but in the wizarding world, it would have come from a Muggle-born student, which made it all the worse. Perhaps tomorrow, he would look at a list of Muggle-born Slytherin students, if there were any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure about you guys, but the name of the book makes me laugh whenever I read it in my head.


	16. La Conquête du Monde

Chapter 16 – **La Conquête du Monde**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 23/May/2016_

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning feeling much better than he had on previous nights of sleep. The pull because of the Dark Arts because had completely vanished the moment that he had begun to read one of the books, which allowed him to sleep peacefully. He looked at Nagini, who had woken at the same time as him, with a curious look, wondering what woke her up. He opened his curtains and made his way towards his trunk, his eyes squinted closed as he opened it with a soft click.

The first thing that he noticed was that every single bed in the dormitory was vacated and left mess, as if they rolled out of bed after a night of tossing and turning. He spied Draco and Theodore sitting off to the side, whispering, fully clothed.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Theodore, cutting across whatever Draco was whispering to him, which caused said boy to start scowling. “It’s good to see that you’ve finally decided to wake up and be productive.”

“You act like I’ve slept all day,” said Harry, pulling out his robes for the day. “I’ll have you know that it’s not even seven yet.”

“A duel has been issued,” said Draco. “It’s starting in around ten minutes.”

“So I suggest you hurry up,” said Theodore, turning back to Draco. “It’ll be a good one, two seventh-years.”

“A duel?” said Harry, digging through his trunk. He was rather excited to see another duel, especially between older students. “Between who? Also, why wasn’t I woken up sooner?”

“We tried, I swear to Merlin that we tried!” said Draco, throwing his hands into the air. “You were pretty much dead in your sleep and we attempted to shake you awake…”

“That failed, of course,” said Theodore.

“I went to slap you,” said Draco, smiling as if it was the best thing he thought up. “But your snake decided to hiss threateningly at me and I didn’t want to be bitten while you’re asleep.”

Harry sent Draco a glare before snapping it towards Theodore. “Hopeless,” he said, making his way towards the lavatory, hoping that he would be able to get ready in time. Seven minutes to get ready for the day.

He started the shower, which instantly heated, as he brushed his teeth and undressed from his pyjamas. Spitting the mint flavoured toothpaste out he stepped into the shower and washed himself quicker than he thought could be possible. It took less than four minutes to shower and brush his teeth. Add another two for getting dressed and one for his hair. “Alright, I want to see this duel, let’s go,” he said as he walked back into the dormitory. He glared at Theodore, who had the nerve to snicker at him. “What?”

“Well,” started Theodore before he was nudge din the ribs by Draco’s pointy elbows.

“Your shirt is inside out, your tie is on wrong and your hair looks as if you were outside flying in a storm,” said Draco, staring at the look of his best friend with slight disdain. He took a very small step towards his friend with a raised eyebrow and yanked off the boy’s shirt, which caused Harry to cry out in a juvenile manner. “Be quiet! It’s not like you’ve never been undressed in a room full of people before. You’re in the same dormitory as six other boys – you’re bound to see a lot more in due time.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to undress me.”

“I am not _undressing_ you,” said Draco, his tone stern. “I am simply fixing your hideous attempt at dressing yourself.”

Harry scoffed.

“Now, stop squirming,” said Draco, poking his best friend in the ribs with his long finger.

“Stop it! That tickles!” said Harry, his teeth clenched as he tried his hardest not to burst out in laughter as Draco’s fingers prodded his ribs. “I didn’t expect you to just stroll up to me and –” he paused as Draco stuffed his shirt over his head. “I was speaking, Draco!”

“Be quiet, Harry, I’m helping you look somewhat respectful for the duel,” said Draco, his tone calm. “Now that’s your shirt and tie fixed and patted down. You have less than two minutes to fix your hair, so get to it.”

Harry muttered a spell and smirked as his hair neatened itself.

“Or you could be lazy and do that,” said Draco, looking annoyed. “Why didn’t you do that in the first place?”

“It’s not lazy, Draco, it’s productive,” said Harry, smiling as he defended his actions. “Let’s not forget who gave me the initial encouragement to use a charm such as that. Who was it again? Oh, yeah, your mother.”

Draco snorted and began to drag Theodore and Harry from the room with intent to get the conversation off his mother and what she taught Harry. “Hurry up,” he said to Harry. “Move. Your. Feet!”

“Aren’t you bossy this morning?” muttered Harry was he was practically dragged through the common room. He had to take large steps to keep up with Draco, who appeared to be running to get to the duelling pit. “This room has changed, it was different last year,” he stated as he entered the room, where he was promptly hushed by Draco and dragged into a nearby seat behind a glimmering ward. Of course, he missed the two combatant’s names while he was overthinking something irrelevant to this entire situation, but he pulled his mind towards the start of the duel.

He watched closely as the two duellers took up their stances, which oddly reminded him of a fencer’s stance, and began to stare at each other, as if that would help them in the duel. It was about twenty seconds later when a spell was shot and deflected right at him. He tense don instinct and watched as the red spell vanished into dust right in front of his eyes. It seemed as if that started off the duel at a much fiercer level.

The boy in the duel sidestepped what appeared to be a nasty looking hex and sent one back with just as much force as the first one was sent. He sent a murky orange coloured spell at the girl, who only just managed to duck it at the last moment. The spell going through her hair, turning her hair from light brown to the same murky orange colour of the spell.

The room paused for a moment, everyone leaned on the edges of their chairs and waited for the next spell to be cast. It was a dark purple spell cast by the boy which caused the girl to scream and dash to the side. The spell sailed between the gaps between her legs. The girl stood up and glared at the boy, furiously sending spell after spell at the boy. The sound of glass smashing and something that sounded like a gong echoed throughout the room.

Harry kept watching with vast interest as the onslaught continued. His eyes trailed down to the feet of the girl and he instantly realized that her posture was wrong and that if she continued to throw out spells she would knock herself off balance before she could right herself. He flicked his eyes towards the boy who seemed to have also noticed the girl’s awful footing. While he blocked the relentless attacks by the girl, he would occasionally deflect a curse straight back at her, which was rather interesting as the girl would duck it and resume her stance, but not fix her footing.

The duel raged on for a few more moments before the girl was sent skidding along the platform by a very nasty looking bright blue spell, which had the boy laughing like a loon.

“Do you concede?” asked the boy, twirling his wand in a half-circle as he waited for a response.

“Of course not,” snapped the girl, getting to her feet she held the boy’s gaze. Her knees shook as she stood straight. “Your spells are weak! I’ll make you pay for doing _that_ to my hair!”

And just like that, the speaking ceased and flashes of bright light took over the duelling platform. Harry soon realised that neither of them really wanted to disarm each other, instead they focused on trying to cause each other as much pain as they could inflict.

The duel lasted two more minutes before the girl once again dropped on the floor, unconscious. The boy who had won the duel cheered slightly before wincing and grasping his arm, which had a rather nasty looking cut across it.

“I believe that is enough excitement for today,” drawled Professor Snape. “It has been a while since I have seen such a close duel that could have gone either way. I’ll be quizzing you all on this later, so I suggest you try and remember some key points of what happened.”

Harry smirked and stood slowly, pulling Draco up with him. “Duels are so much fun to watch. I’m rather upset that we haven’t had the chance to participate in any ourselves, yet,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s also odd that duelling isn’t taught here.”

“Yeah,” said Draco, the tiredness clear in his tone.

“The adrenaline has worn off I assume,” stated Harry, glancing at Draco. He was right, of course. He felt Draco slump against him as the two walked into the Slytherin common room. He led his friend towards a nearby sofa so that he could rest or something. He, personally, was far from tired and you couldn’t pay him to take a nap at such a time, especially when he could go through the duel and prepare for one if he was ever in one.

“Already reading, aren’t you, Harry?” said Theodore, a knowing look on his face as he slumped down on the sofa next to Draco, who he eyed suspiciously. “I cannot believe that he wakes us all up and then goes back to sleep.”

“It’s Draco, what do you expect?” replied Harry, propping open a book.

Theodore sighed. “If you continue to read at this rate, you’ll be through the entire library by the time you’re in your fourth year.”

Harry turned his head slightly, acknowledging the boy. “I didn’t receive an ‘Outstanding’ in each subject last year sitting around and twiddling my thumbs, now, did I?” he said, glaring at Theodore. “Some – not saying any names – may be here to do such trivial things like joke around and play pranks on friends. I, on the other hand, will be using these seven years as efficiently as I can.”

“Really?” said Theodore.

“I know that you may consider that boring, but at least I’ll graduate with decent grades and will get far in life without having to live off my parents.”

Theodore snorted and turned towards Harry, a serious expression on his face. “Have you ever considered tutoring other students?” he asked, curious. “They’d pay you a fair bit of money or teach you advanced spells if you could help them raise their grades.”

Harry made a humming noise, as if urging the boy to continue.

“I know that Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch team captain, would almost dive at the chance for some easy tutoring, especially if it helped him raise his grades. Despite Flint’s appearance, he knows a fair amount of advanced spells that he would teach you for help, seeing as they’re not as rich as other families.”

“Hmm, yes, I guess I could do that,” said Harry, looking thoughtful. He peered over towards the far corner in the Slytherin common room and saw Marcus Flint in a corner with a book open. It was highly out of character. “Do you know what he needs help with?”

“I think he needs help with Potions, Charms and Transfiguration,” said Theodore, looking rather sceptical. “I heard he does great in Defence Against the Dark Arts, I assume that’s because his knowledge in the Dark Arts is rather high.”

“Excellent,” said Harry, nodding along. “Of course I’ll help him – out of the goodness of my heart. I wonder if they’d be insulted that they need help from a second-year of if they’d be grateful for it.”

“Most would refuse on pride,” said Theodore. “That is, of course, until they see someone else receiving help and then they’d be more inclined to accept help from a second-year.”

“Even me?” said Harry, a knowing look on his face. “I’m by far the most intelligent and clever person in this school. You cannot explain my genius in words.”

“Just like your ego…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” mumbled Theodore. “I heard you tutored a Prefect in Potions and she went from an Acceptable to an Exceeds Expectations, almost an Outstanding in a few lessons.”

“Yeah,” replied Harry. “Gemma.”

“We have a little potions prodigy in our presence it seems,” said Theodore. “Did you know that all Slytherin Heads of Houses are Potion Masters?”

“I didn’t know that,” said Harry, pausing when Theodore gasped suddenly. “What?”

“Harry Potter doesn’t know something!” gasped Theodore. “Amazing.”

“Shut up, you git,” sneered Harry. “How did you know that?”

“Uh –”

“Besides,” continued Harry, ignoring Theodore. “I simply assume it’s because of the duelling pit and needing a steady supply of potion to aid the students that were duelling.”

“Well, rumour has it that it was because Salazar Slytherin was an accomplished Potions Master in his time,” said Theodore, ignoring the look he got. “It wasn’t until like three centuries later until potions were incorporated into healing things and such, but Salazar was the first to begin with it.”

“Rumour has it?” repeated Harry. “Hmm, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Nothing, Theodore,” said Harry, closing his book with a soft thump. “Would you take Draco to bed for me? Don’t worry about removing his clothes, he’d have a fit if you did. Just throw him on top of the covers.”

Theodore huffed and started to pick up Draco. “God he’s heavy, he looks so scrawny. Why is he so heavy?”

“Maybe you’re just weak, Teddy Bear,” sniped Harry, looking pleased. “Pick him up from under the arms and then just drag him, it’s what I do.”

“Don’t call me that name!” said Theodore with a wince. “It somehow got around to the seventh-years, which means the whole school now uses it against me.”

“I must apologize then, Theodore,” said Harry, placing his hand over his heart. “I did not mean for the nickname I had given you to escalate so far amongst the other students, especially those out of our own house. You must see these things from my perspective though. Having my hair ruffled and having sixth-years squeeze my cheeks was more embarrassing then what happened to you.”

“Call me Teddy-Bear once more and your cheeks being pinched will be the very least of your worries,” said Theodore with a glare. “I have other things planned. I’ll make you into the Slytherin baby if I have to, Harry, do not laugh at my warnings.”

* * *

“Hello, Flint,” said Harry, dropping into the seat directly opposite Marcus Flint. “I would assume by the facial expression that you’re making that you either have a very bad stomach ache and I should vacate this seat right now or you’re confused.”

“Real funny, Potter. I can assure you that when I’m think I look nothing like that,” said Marcus, looking somewhat annoyed. “Anyway, I’m a little stuck on whatever this trash that Snape assigned us this week for potions. Why is one project worth seventy-five percent of our overall grade?”

“That’s a weekly assignment?” asked Harry, looking confused on why a weekly assignment was worth so much of the yearly grade.

“Nah, it’s a yearly project, but we got it last week to start as it shouldn’t take long, at least that’s what Snape said.”

“Sounds just like him, to be honest.”

“He told me that if I got a decent grade on this, I’d be able to scrape through with a passing grade, and be able to take my N.E.W.T.s,” said Marcus, deflating slightly. “I regret not taking my studies serious as it’s come back to bite me on the –”

“Spare me the details,” said Harry, grimacing. “You have a chance to actually get ahead in your studies and pull a few passing grades?”

“Yeah,” said Marcus, his usual simple replies breaking through. “I was hoping to become a Quidditch player, professional, but they actually require you to have decent grades and not just bum around attend school for free living.”

“Hmm.”

“My results weren’t bad, you know – not a lost cause like those Weasley Twins that will barely manage an ‘Acceptable’ on their O.W.L.s,” muttered Flint. “My family ain’t that rich and we cannot afford a private tutor after school, like most of Slytherin can, y’know.”

“I have heard some minor... rumours that your family is rather proficient in the darker side of magic,” said Harry in an innocent tone, much like a child lying about stealing treats. “I know that you lost the duel last year, but that was out of your comfort zone – not that I judge you for one lost duel as the knowledge is still in your head.”

Marcus flinched.

“Gemma is talented,” said Harry. “Not trying to make you feel worse or anything, but, she, like you, found herself struggling with Potions as well.”

Marcus glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper. “My father and his father were both powerful dark wizards, Potter. What are you getting at?”

“I’ll help you in potions,” started Harry in a silky tone. “For some small assistance in learning some of the finer parts of a certain branch of magic, known as the Dark Arts.”

Marcus stared at Harry Potter, somewhat confused on why the Head Auror’s son wanted to learn the Dark Arts.

“Purely educational, you know,” said Harry. “I’ll not do all your work for you, instead I’ll tutor you, as I did with Gemma. You help me and I’ll help you, so-to speak.”

“Hmph,” said Marcus, unimpressed. “Maybe. You’re a second-year, though, what do you know?”

Harry just gave the young man a look that said it all. “I’m the most intelligent person to ever step into this castle.”

“Yet, you struggle with one odd branch?” said Marcus. “Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t have much to lose, anyway, but I won’t teach you anything until my grades pick up slightly.”

“That’s not all, of course,” said Harry, leaning forwards slightly. “I also wish to be placed as the official strategist or playmaker for the Slytherin Quidditch team.”

Marcus looked curiously at the boy who was grinning at him.

“I can show you a quick play that I have thought about for the first match,” said Harry. “Trust me on it, it’ll work wonders.”

“Why d’you wanna be the playmaker or the strategist, as you call it, when you could just be our Seeker and win us the games?” said Marcus, eyeing the second-year curiously. “I’ve never seen anyone that was as good as you were – it’s like you were born on a broom. We didn’t lose a game at all last year… a record if I have anything to say about it. As much as I hate to admit it, Wood is a great captain… he has a solid team.”

Harry sat there in silence for a few moments, pondering the question and how he would reply without looking like an idiot. “I’d rather watch my plans unravel from the sidelines, so to speak. Making others do what it just makes everything so much easier and better. Having another person follow what I say is perfect, absolutely perfect,” he said, repeating the words in his head, knowing they made very little sense and came off as rambling. “I have always had my way with strategy. I only lose when it would benefit me from losing.”

Marcus was confused. “How does losing benefit you?”

“Sometimes losing is great for baiting the opponent into doing something stupid and reckless, such as thinking you’re weaker than you appear and underestimating you,” said Harry, a smirk appeared on his face. “Then you swoop in and crush them while they’re dazed about your skill.”

Marcus jumped slightly at the tone but nodded along with the boy’s explanation, even if sounded like something that would come from a speech in a war. “If you help me with this,” he said, lifting up the book, “I’ll teach you some spells and then see what you’ve got as a playmaker.”

Harry leant over the table in a manner that would have all three occupants of Malfoy Manor coming down on him for his posture and that he wasn’t acting like a proper Malfoy would and should. He spent the next two hours sitting in the same position, on his knees and leaning over the table, with Marcus Flint, helping the boy with his Potions and Charms work.

Needless to say, it was quite a captivating experience for both Harry and Marcus. The former of the two was learning new material rather quickly and at a rapid rate, compared to what he would be learning it in class or on his own. The latter was able to actually absorb the material with soft explanations on confused things and due to it being a one on one study lesson, he wasn’t afraid to ask questions, which was where his issues started in the first place.

The time past at an unnatural speed and before either of the two boys knew it, it was almost lunch time.

Marcus closed the book with a sigh and looked up towards the beaming boy in front of him. “Thank you, Harry,” he said. “I’ll still need a fair amount of help with my studies if I wish to actually graduate this year and be able to accept the job offering that I received. I’ll have to put aside a fair amount of Quidditch captain tasks in order to lift my grades. I think you’ll be able to help with those, if you want.”

Harry beamed at Marcus, looking like a cat that caught the canary. “I would love to help you with Quidditch things! It would be an amazing experience, one that could help me in future years when you’re gone and the captaincy is handed to me,” he said, ignoring the look on Marcus’ face. “Just hand me a letter in guise of Quidditch stuff or send an owl with a date and a time and I’ll make sure that I can meet up with you and give you a small lesson, whether it’s one or two hours. I want to meet up with you at least four times a week, minimum, to tutor you in each subject, the fourth will be what you teach me. If that’s too much or too little, I can give you more lessons, it’ll just have to be in the afternoon or during free periods.”

“Sounds great,” said Marcus, throwing his book into his bag, which caused the boy in front of him to glare. “I’ll fulfil my end soon, yeah.”

Harry soon realised that Marcus had done his daily dose of speaking plus some extra in the lessons and that his answers were slowly sho0rtening and he was getting grunts instead of worded replies. He did wonder if Marcus would stick with his promise and actually teach him anything during their small lessons, especially with the fact that he picked up things quicker than Marcus did. Not to mention that he would be teaching the son of the Head Auror, which to most would be like snapping their wand and just walking into Azkaban. He’d never break the deal, of course, as it’d ruin him in Slytherin and he’d never give James the satisfaction of being right.

* * *

The next week flew by in a whirl of different classes, merged discussions and accusations. Harry had tutored Marcus every day for the entire week, settling that seven one hour sessions were better than four two hours sessions as it’d give him time to mull over what he had learned and apply it in classes. He had only had one lesson with Marcus and it was almost painful as it was just theory that he had already known and he couldn’t just say that he already knew it.

Little did Marcus Flint know, he was played in the most spectacularly Slytherin way that even Salazar would be proud. Harry didn’t lose anything with this little deal. He gained knowledge while teaching Marcus, he gained more knowledge while Marcus taught him, and he even got a free position on the Quidditch team once more that required him to do no work and had people obeying his every word.

Harry sat in the common room, surrounded by the Quidditch team. “Marcus knows how good at chess I am,” he said boastfully, smirking at said person. “Beat him in no less than nine moves.”

Marcus huffed. “I don’t have the patience for chess.”

Harry snorted. “Quidditch strategy is a whole new field of strategy and I cannot wait to test it out,” he said. “Be thankful that you have me that will be teaching you and not someone else.”

“Aren’t you a little too fond of your own abilities?”

“Perhaps,” said Harry, unsure on who actually spoke. “If I’m not fond of my own abilities or have no confidence in them, how can you trust me? A lot of you call yourselves the best in your field at Quidditch and the fact that you’re so certain about it leads me to believe it.”

“What do you have planned, Harry?” said Draco, not getting sucked into that little argument. He knew that his friend would soon mention something about who would you follow… a weak person, or someone with an air of confidence and everyone would say the latter, proving his point correct. “And we’re all aware of your talents in chess. I still, however, hold the title of being the only person to beat you.”

“With a cursed board, Draco?” said harry, his eyebrow slightly lifted. “Hush.”

“Right,” said Terence. “Fill us in, then.”

“I don’t exactly have a name for what I have planned for the match, but I can fill you in on all the details now and we’ll see how it goes,” said Harry. “If it fails, which it shouldn’t, I’ll call a timeout and we’ll go back to the backup strategy.”

“Sounds great,” said Terence. “So what’s this?”

Immediately everyone’s eyes locked onto the small box with writing all over it.

“Is that the Muggle game you were talking about?”

“This is a Muggle board game called Risk. It’s highly complicated and is so much fun that the time passes quickly,” said Harry, picking up the box and opening it, pulling out a clump of papers. “I’m sure there’s a magical equivalent of this game, but the Muggle one will do for now. Risk is a turn-based game for two to six players. The standard version is played on a board depicting a political map of the Earth, divided into forty-two territories, which are grouped into six continents. The object of the game is to occupy every territory on the board and in doing so, eliminate the other players. Players control armies with which they attempt to capture territories from other players, with results determined by dice rolls.”

“I’m already confused,” said Draco, staring at the box with complete disbelief. “How can something so small be so complicated?”

“I’m sure you’ll be hearing that one a lot in life, Malfoy,” muttered Derrick, letting out a bark of laughter in the process. He lifted his voice to sound like a woman, which didn’t work to well. “Oh, Draco, why is it so small!”

The area erupted in childish laughter while the two younger members were left confused. “What’s small?” said Harry, looking annoyed that they were making a joke about something he didn’t understand. “You know what? I – really – don’t – care.”

“Nothing, Harry, your innocence shall be spared,” snickered Miles. He vowed, alongside Marcus, to avoid the game that was being set up. “I’m with Malfoy on this one… it looks bloody complicated.”

Harry muttered under his breath before explaining the game once again, in the clearest tone that he could manage. He paused at various spots, making sure people were following along and not confused. When people were confused, he would glare at them and hurl the instructions booklet at them. It took almost forty minutes for him to just explain the basic rules and flow of the game.

Soon enough, six players found themselves preparing for the start of the game and the rest were circled around the table, silent.

The game was over within an hour and twenty minutes and left five poor boys defeated in their childish games of attempting to conquer the world. Of course, there was one, who held everything in his little hands and had a victorious grin on his face as he swept across the board, taking what was his. The other participants glared as they realised their mistakes. The most common was setting up an alliance with the boy who broke them the moment it suited him.

“You’re actually rather good at this,” said Miles, leaning inwards to study the map of Earth. “I don’t think that anyone saw what you had planned.”

“People will cave when under a little pressure,” said Harry. “Push at their borders and then they’ll find out how outnumbered they are and give in. Of course, only one can win so when I saw a moment that I could use to get rid of them, I did.”

The only alliance that Harry had actually held without breaking was the one between him and Draco. The other four must’ve learned early on that attacking Draco was attacking Harry and that got one person destroyed within fifteen minutes of the game starting. By the end of the match Harry had the entire world and was fully sounded against Draco, who had no choice but to concede and watch as Harry obliterated his shabby position.

“That was fun,” continued Harry, the reminiscing of the match not sating his desire. “We should play again, sometime.”

“I don’t think so!” said one of the defeated boys.

“I told you that I was a great strategist, even if I am so young,” said Harry. “I was told a while ago that if I wanted to, I could be a Grandmaster in chess.”

“Fun?” repeated Derrick. “Maybe for you, but we all got decimated by you in a quick move, you had the world conquered so quickly that it shouldn’t be possible.”

“That’s what you get for trying to conquer me,” said Harry, grinning. “Now, as I was saying about Quidditch, I have a few different tactics we can use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to share a bit of my original drafts with you, even if it was drafted in book one. :)
> 
> You know how Harry wanted to go to Durmstrang? Here’s some fun facts. If Lily had given in and allowed Harry to attend, he would have died within a month of attending the school. He would have been hit in the back of the head with a Blasting Curse for being a half-blood and the son of a ‘light’ family. Despite the fact that I had no intentions at all of sending him there, I still plotted out his demise at the school.
> 
> I’m so morbid.


	17. Never Trust a Slytherin

Chapter 17 – **Never Trust a Slytherin**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 25/May/2016_

* * *

Harry wake up slightly earlier on the following Saturday morning. He didn’t get up instantly, instead he remained in bed and pondered over the day and the upcoming Quidditch match which was in around seven or so hours, depending on the actual time besides the loose ‘the sun isn’t rising’ from what he had gathered so far. He had spent a long time pondering over the Gryffindor team and theirs strengths, as well as their weaknesses.

The Slytherin team may have had the fastest brooms ever made and had a very high chance of winning due to that, but that meant nothing if the people didn’t know how to fly. As painful as it was to admit, the Gryffindor had talent – talent and a strong desire to beat Slytherin due to the brooms. The Gryffindor Chasers were better, at least two of three; the Keeper was obviously born in that position as he hardly ever allowed any Quaffle through the hoops; the Beaters, the Weasley twins, were just as savage and brutish as the Slytherin team, and that was worrying.

He finally pulled himself out of bed, the urge to get up and be productive overpowering the brief laziness that he suddenly had. He was ready for the day in the blink of an eye and he still heard the same conversation that Rosier was muttering sleepily in his sleep. He stared at the sleeping form of Draco before frowning. “Get up! Up! Get up!” he said, channelling his inner Aunt Petunia, who used the same tone on Dudley who had fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room.

Draco groaned and blinked rapidly at Harry, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes. “What?” he muttered out sleepily. “It’s five thirty, Harry!”

Harry huffed and kicked Draco’s trunk, causing the clips to flick open and then he began to dig through it, hunting for the outfit that he knows that Narcissa had sneakily added. He ignored Draco complaining about his trunk being broken into. “Good, it’s in here,” he said, picking up the said outfit. “I’ll have to thank Narcissa for adding it after you already checked your trunk.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t bother showering,” said Harry, still smirking. “Else you’ll just be showering twice within the span of two hours and we don’t have time.”

“No showering?” said Draco, a shocked facial expression. “I don’t think so, Harry.”

“You can shower after you jog,” suggested Harry, knowing that it’s what everyone else planned to do. “What’s the point in showering, jogging, and then showering again?”

“I am a Malfoy!” said Draco. “I will not be jogging around! That’s what peasants and those idiot Weasleys would do!”

Harry gave a mock sniff and then muttered a hex under his breath, which hit Draco in the chest and caused him to let out a yelp.

“Why do we need to jog around anyway?” said Draco, rubbing his chest. “Quidditch, in case you haven’t realised, is played in the air on brooms, not on the ground.”

“Put a Galleon in the ‘Draco-is-being-ridiculously-obvious’ jar, please,” said Harry, shaking his head in exasperation. He then straightened and gestured towards an invisible jar and studied it intently, as if it was there and waiting for a Galleon to be dropped it. “It’s to keep you in shape. The entire Quidditch team will be running alongside you and its being done at a time before anyone else will wake up so they won’t know.”

Draco sighed and fought the urge to just throw himself back on the bed. “We will get all sweaty and gross, Harry.”

“And here I was thinking that we were wizards and could clean ourselves with a simple flick of the wrist, silly me,” muttered Harry, his tone dripping sarcasm that would have been obvious from a mile away. “As I said before, Draco, the jog will end at the Slytherin changing rooms, which have showers in them.”

“What about fresh clothes?”

“House-Elves already took them there and locked the door,” said Harry. “Marcus has the key.”

Draco muttered under his breath as he kicked off his sheets. He snatched the clothes from Harry’s hands, still muttering and made for the attached lavatory, preparing to get changed. His mother had told him that he should jog frequently regardless of what his father thought of the matter.

The Slytherin team finished their jogging with little to no complaints, unless you were hit by Harry Potter with a Stinging Hex for going to slow or for talking instead of running. Eventually they found themselves at the Slytherin changing rooms, which contained their clothes and showers that everyone seemed to instantly rush for.

Eventually the group of Slytherins split apart in the changing room and began discussing their own topics, which got a little overwhelming for those that wanted to be a part of multiple conversations.

* * *

Eleven o’clock soon enough approached, the whole school had started to make their way towards the Quidditch pitch, hoping for an exciting game, despite the muggy looking weather. Harry was already ready for the match, he was wearing a white t-shirt and some black slacks. His pale skin was safe from getting burned with the sun being behind so many clouds. He was walking towards the Quidditch pitch, just behind the rather loud Gryffindor team, who were getting their pep talk on the way to the field, oh how juicy.

“– It’s down to you, Neville, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Neville, because we’ve got to win today, we’ve got to,” said Wood, glaring at the team, he paused when he spotted a Slytherin just behind him. “Potter!”

“I didn’t see you there, Wood, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” said Harry, a very fake smile appearing on his face. It widened when the entire Gryffindor team spun around to face him.

“Typical Slytherin tactics,” said Lee Jordan, his body posture tensed. “Listening into the other team’s pep talk. How disgusting! Did you learn anything useful, Potter? Anything at all?”

“Only that your captain needs to sort out his priorities for the team,” said Harry. “I have no idea who tells their Seeker to get the Snitch or die trying like this is some kind of book where Longbottom is the hero and catching the Snitch will save the world. It’s just a game, Wood.”

“J-just a game?” raged Wood.

“You care very little about your team,” said Harry. “You don’t care for them at all. You’re using them to win the game. How Slytherin of you.”

There was a sharp intake of breath.

“Of course, I cannot help but think if you feel as if your team were expandable,” continued Harry, pushing all the right buttons. “I cannot wait to see you get decimated on the pitch, Wood, it’ll make the won all that much sweeter. Here’s some parting words: watch your back.”

“Was that a threat, Potter?” yelled Wood, his face tinging a slight red as he huffed, trying to yell at the second-year. “I’ll show you, Potter!”

Harry just smirked at the Gryffindor captain which proved to make said boy angrier and angrier. He walked away with a determined glint in his eyes. ‘That’s part one of the plan completed,’ he thought as he weaved around a group of students. ‘Part two will be to add as much confusion before the game begins as possible.’

What confused the masses of students sitting in the stands was when Harry Potter, ex-Seeker, came out onto the field and was the one to shake Wood’s hand instead of Marcus Flint. Everyone watched as the boy flashed a smile and then ducked out of the way and walked towards the post off to the side of the Quidditch field. In range if any player needed to talk, but not on the actual field.

Harry stood and watched as Madam Hooch began to count from three down to one before she blew her whistle as loudly as she possible could, which was instantly followed by a roar from the crowd. He knew that the roar was to aid the fourteen Quidditch players rise in the air faster and start the match faster as the countdown wasn’t until the match started, no, it was the signal to rise in the air and get ready.

It surprised no one that the Slytherin team was the first in the air.

Harry kept a very close eye on Wood and how he was acting during the match. The boy looked confused, angry, concerned and frustrated all at once. All four of those amplified when he realised that the Slytherin team was playing by the rules without a single foul in the ten minutes the game had been in progress.

‘Distract the Keeper and the game is an easy win,’ thought Harry, knowing that his thought process was shared by the Slytherin Chasers. ‘Constant wide shots, making the Keeper move further for the Quaffle will make him more tired and susceptible to falling into a pattern.’

It took a while, but he finally caught Wood’s eye, who was sweating rather profusely. He mouthed his previous words of watching his back and smirked when Wood flinched and looked around, hoping to find something that would prove his theory correct and that the Slytherin team was up to something.

His smirk grew even wider when he realised that Wood was distracted with his anger and emotions that he would soon start missing goals that he could easily block or deflect.

Mere seconds later, an angry Chaser from the Gryffindor team started yelling at the irate Keeper and captain of the Quidditch team. No one would hear the shouts or words that were spoken due to the slight wind that had picked up, but it looked heated.

A plan formed in Harry’s mind. It was one that he had glossed over quickly and that was for dissension to form in the enemy team and drive them apart during the match, which was happening now. Glancing up, he met Terence’s eye, who in turn met Marcus’ and another plan was set in motion.

The plan, which wasn’t named, was nothing short of a massacre. Slytherin scored three goals in no-less-than one minute and forty-two seconds.

The match went on and Wood seemed to get his bearings together as he soon enough began to block the ferocious attacks from the Slytherin Chasers. “We’re up by a large amount,” said Draco, hovering on his broom near Harry. “What do we do now?”

Harry thought on it for a second, not wanting to keep his Seeker occupied for a long period of time. “Start with the second formation that we discussed – go half defensive, half aggressive. Don’t allow their Chasers to score any goals, even if one our Beaters start playing defensive with the Keeper,” he said, thinking up what could happen. “As for you, Draco, you’re doing fantastic.”

“This just continues to raise questions on why Malfoy went to Potter instead of Flint – and that should have been a time out – I’m sure it’s in the rulebooks somewhere,” commented Lee Jordan as he watched the match. “What’s this now? A message from Potter and the Slytherin team has stopped the onslaught they had going – Bell with the Quaffle… she’s going to score – no blocked by Bletchley – Slytherin in position, Flint carefully weaving between the Gryffindor team, passes Bell – passes Fred or is that George? Who really knows – he throws it… bounces off Wood’s broom and into the goals – Slytherin scores. Score is Slytherin on two hundred and forty to Gryffindors seventy.”

Wood instantly signalled a timeout, not liking how this match was going. He stared at his team and was unsure of what to say until something burst from his mouth. “WHAT’S GOING ON OUT THERE?”

Neville, who was sending Harry curious looks, was startled and stared at Wood in disbelief. “It’s not our fault that you’re not blocking the shots.”

Wood drew in a breath and rounded on Neville. “Neville,” he snapped. “Pay attention and get that Snitch as soon as you can! If we can score two goals then we’ll win if you catch the Snitch!”

“Honestly, Malfoy hasn’t been doing much of his job as a Seeker,” said Alicia Spinnet, one of the Chasers. “Instead it appears as if he’s been demoted to the message boy and is just on the team for no other reason than that.”

The Gryffindor team turned and glanced at the Slytherin team, who were hovering in the air in a semi-circle, laughing.

“Doesn’t help that we have no Beaters to keep those bloody Bludgers off us,” said Katie Bell.

Fred and George both gave the Chaser a blank look. “Not our fault, someone tampered with the Bludger –”

“– We cannot keep Neville safe from a Bludger –”

“– That has gone after no one else –”

“– At all in this match –”

“– Safe, as well as you lot –”

“– We wanted to, trust us, but it was impossible –”

“– Potter has been smirking the entire match –”

“– Not to mention that he targeted our dear Wood with subliminal messages all game,” finished George, sending Wood a glare. “You’ve been distracted too, Wood.”

“I doubt a second year could tamper with a Bludger, plus they’ve been locked in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then,” said Wood anxiously, as Potter’s words once more rang through his mind. “I think Potter is behind it, but we have no proof.”

Neville saw Madam Hooch walking towards them and quickly interrupted the argument that was starting. “Listen, with you two flying round me all the time the only way I’m going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one,” he said quickly. “If this is a plan by Potter, then he won’t expect this, we’ll just outsmart him on his own game.”

“Don’t be thick!” said Fred loudly, glaring at Oliver.

“It’ll take your head off, Neville,” said George just moments after.

Alicia Spinnet looked at Oliver, who appeared to be considering Neville’s words. “Oliver, this is mad. You can’t let Neville deal with that thing on his own. Let’s ask for an inquiry.”

“If we stop now, we’ll have to forfeit the match!” shouted Neville, startling the group. “And we’re not losing to Slytherin just because of a mad Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!”

“This is all you fault, Wood!” bellowed George, his facial expression was pure anger. Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by Madam Hooch who had a pointed look on her face.

“Are you ready to resume play?”

Wood looked at the determined look on Neville’s face. “All right. Fred, George, you heard Neville – leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own.”

The Gryffindor took back to the pitch, they reassumed their positions, opposite the Slytherin team, who look far more relaxed than they did just moments ago. A drizzle of rain had just started to fall from the dark grey clouds that loomed overhead. Madam Hooch’s whistle echoed across the field and the play instantly resumed, the Bludgers were once more released and one found its target, who just happened to be Neville Longbottom.

Neville swished around the Bludger, leaving the tell-tale whoosh of a Bludger behind him as he climbed higher and higher. He looped and swooped, spiralled, zig-zagged and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open. Rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn’t change direction as quickly as he could. He began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium. A whistling in his ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

He took the brief moment of peacefulness to observe the field. He realized that the Slytherin team were waiting for something, he just had no idea what, and they would send glances towards Harry who would nod or shake his head slightly, not enough for people to notice. He was sure that was cheating and not allowed. He didn’t say anything and for a brief and almost painful moment he hung in the air, hovering completely still.

The sound of bones snapping and someone screaming filled the Quidditch pitch, all attention looked for the cause of the scream and bone crunching noise. They found Neville Longbottom harshly grabbing his elbow, a pain filled expression spread over his facial features.

Neville, who was dazed by the searing pain in his arm, slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side. The Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face. He swerved out of the way, one simple idea was lodged in his brain, and that was to get to Malfoy. Through a haze of rain and pain he sped towards the Snitch, was hovering just behind Malfoy, who had begun to search for it.

Draco flicked around doing a half loop and dropped down to chase after the Snitch, which put in Harry’s plan to play full defensive, after all, it didn’t matter who caught the Snitch, Slytherin would win regardless. He slammed into the side of Longbottom and taunted the boy as the plummeted straight for the ground, which was approaching at a rapid rate. He sent the Boy Who Lived a glance and realized the boy looked close to passing out, he sent one more taunt towards the boy and pushed harder on his broom.

Neville took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs and there was a yell from the crowd. With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle. Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand. “We’ve won!” he laughed and then proceeded to faint.

“Neville Longbottom has caught the Snitch! Gryf – Slytherin wins two hundred and thirty, to Gryffindors’ two hundred and twenty,” announced Lee Jordan sadly.

Neville came around five minutes later with both teams looking at him, his elbow still hurt, but he caught the Snitch, so the pain was worth it. “Did we?” he had to ask, the smile on Harry’s face didn’t do him any justice.

“You lost,” said Harry bluntly, shrugging. “You caught the Snitch, yes, as I planned. We were one hundred and sixty points in front, so it put you ten points behind. It takes a good Seeker to catch the Snitch, it takes an even better Seeker to know when to not catch the Snitch.”

Despite not actually catching the Snitch, Draco looked so pleased with himself.

“Unlike some, I would rather not have the Seeker doing dangerous manoeuvres and informed him not to give it all, as there’s more matches he needs to participate in,” continued Harry, smirking at Wood. “You’re very lucky, Longbottom, if that Bludger hit you one centimetre higher, it would have bounced into your neck, snapping it. Wood’s words would have been true, but at least you caught the Snitch, right?”

The sound of a Bludger spiralling towards them shocked the small group when it slammed mere inches to the right of Neville’s head, the boy went a deathly tinge of white, almost like snow. The Bludger came back a few moments later and just missed Neville’s left leg.

Harry was shocked that everyone just stood there gaping and watched as Longbottom rolled around on the floor, narrowly avoiding the Bludger colliding with his head or body. He watched as the Bludger soared down, directly towards Longbottom and whipped out his wand, muttering about saving Gryffindors, he batted the Bludger away as if it was a fly.

“That was interesting,” said Harry, watching the Bludger with a keen eye.

Because this was Hogwarts and Neville Longbottom was attending, nothing was ever as simple as batting it away and the issue would vanish. Nope. Not at all.

Harry watched with somewhat narrowed eyes as the Bludger came back in a curved swoop, determined on slamming into Longbottom’s face, not that he could care less about Longbottom, but this would make the school close and then he’d most likely have to deal with James while he mourned the death of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Once again he was surprised that no one did anything to save Longbottom and instead they were fussing about arguing over whether the Slytherin Quidditch team used valid tactics. He knew that Neville saw it coming and when he tried to fumble for his wand he was stopped and told not to move and that Madam Pomfrey was coming.

The sound of an explosion echoed throughout the Quidditch field as the Bludger collided with a transparent shield mere inches away from Neville Longbottom’s face. Everyone dropped to the ground, unsure of what the sound was.

All besides Harry.

Harry realised that something was terribly wrong with the Bludger that was like a boomerang, it just kept coming back. He had no idea that sound of it hitting his shield would make most of the students scream and cower in fear as if Voldemort was here, in the flesh, attacking them. ‘I have to do something,’ he thought, watching the Bludger, his Seeker training following it as it soared angrily throughout the air. “Evanesco!”

The Bludger vanished mere meters away from Neville as it pushed itself down towards the boy. Neville let out a relieved breath when he realised it was gone.

“Mr. Potter!” said Professor McGonagall, her lips pressed together thinly, as if opening them would cause her to say what really was on her mind. Half of her face was covered in concern and another half was a proud experience. “You do realise that the Vanishing Spell, the spell you just cast, is one of the most complicated spells taught at Ordinary Wizarding Level, right?”

‘Why is she so surprised?’ thought Harry as he beamed politely at the Transfiguration professor. “I know, professor. I read it in my Transfiguration book, you see. I know that you tend to start with inanimate objects such a small rock, then paper and continue up until you reach a snail and then mouse and then a kitten, which is said to be where most ordinary witches and wizards stop.”

“Not many are able to vanish moving objects… let alone a Bludger. Truly impressive work, Mr. Potter.”

“Not bad for my first attempt at the spell. I must admit, that is a lie, but only because my first attempt was when I was eight and I vanished my vegetables when mother looked away,” said Harry, smirking at the memory. He threw his hands up at the look he got. “Accidental magic! No one wants to eat their vegetables.”

“Five points to Slytherin for saving another student’s life,” said Professor McGonagall. “As well as another ten points for quick thinking and impressive spell work.”

Harry wondered why saving the Boy-Who-Lived was only worth five merely house point. He was expecting a nice fifty or hundred for his efforts and talent in Transfiguration.

“Now, Mr. Longbottom… what will we do with you? I see you hurt almost every month, be thankful Madam Pomfrey hasn’t heard yet, else she would be waving potions at you.”

“I have just the spell to fix you right up, no potions needed,” said Professor Lockhart, appearing out of nowhere.

“Oh, no, not you!”

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Professor Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors and excited looking Slytherins pressing around them. “Not to worry, Neville. I’m about to fix your arm.”

“No!” said Neville the instant that he felt Lockhart’s wand press into his arm, his voice laced with pain. “I’ll just… keep it like this, thanks.” He muttered and attempted to shuffle away from the beaming man in front of him.

Harry snorted and then frowned when he heard that infernal clicking of a camera.

“I don’t want a photo of this, Colin!” snapped Longbottom.

“Would you stop taking photos?” snapped Harry, his eyes narrowed at the small boy who appeared to be about the same height as him. The clicking was grating his nerves the more and more that he heard it and it was distracting his thought process. “If you take one more picture, I swear to Salazar, I will smash that camera with a well-placed Blasting Curse and toss it in the Black lake.”

“Yes, that’s it, lie back,” said Lockhart, shifting Neville Longbottom into the position that he required, which wasn’t that different from how the boy was already sitting. “It’s a simple charm I’ve used countless times.”

“Why can’t I just go to the hospital wing?” asked Neville, his teeth clenched.

“Stand back!” said Professor Lockhart, rolling up his jade-green sleeves. He ignored any protests anyone made, including Hermione Granger, his best student, and Ronald Weasley, his worst.

“No – don’t!” said Neville weakly, but it was far too late.

Professor Lockhart began twirling his wand in a complex manner as he aimed it at Neville Longbottom’s broken arm. “Brackium Emendo!”

A flash of eerily blue looking light pressed into Neville’s arm, the surrounding students stood there silently and quietly assessed what had happened. Those who were familiar with healing spells looking at Professor Lockhart curiously, especially a few of the Slytherins.

Neville gasped in relief at the pain in his arm vanishing, a strange and unpleasant sensation started at his shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn’t dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realised as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn’t hurt any more – but nor did it feel remotely like an arm.

“Creeves, what did I say about taking pictures?” snapped Harry, his eyes locked on Neville’s arm. “That infernal clicking is like someone running their fingernails down glass. Be gone, you cretin.”

“It’s Creevey, I’m Colin Creevey,” replied Colin with a sniff, but that didn’t stop him from shifting away from the Slytherin and taking more pictures.

Professor Lockhart looked at the results with concealed shock, he lifted Neville’s arm and flapped it around. “Ah, Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken –”

“Broken?” repeated Hagrid angrily, he looked at the professor like he wanted to throw him across the Quidditch pitch. “There’s no bones left!”

“– That’s the thing to bear in mind,” muttered Professor Lockhart as if he wasn’t interrupted. “So, Neville, just toddle up to the Hospital Wing – ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss. Granger, would you escort him? Madam Pomfrey will be able to – err – tidy you up a bit.”

As Neville got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again. Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-coloured rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened. Professor Lockhart hadn’t mended his bones. He had removed them.

Madam Pomfrey was walking back towards the Quidditch pitch with Professor McGonagall, who had come and collected her muttering about some sort of injury with the Quidditch players. She had brought along her medical bag, which was filled to the brim with various potions and thigs she needed to heal the various students of that dangerous sport that should be outlawed. “For some odd reason, I’m not surprised that it’s Longbottom who is hurt once again,” she said softly to Minerva, who just sighed. She paused when she saw the boy. “You foolish, foolish boy! You just should have come straight to me.”

Neville didn’t say anything as he was led from the Quidditch pitch and towards the castle, which would most likely soon follow towards the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey gave a huff of annoyance, while holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. “I can mend bones in a second – but growing them back –”

“You will be able to, won’t you?” said Neville rather desperately, while he glanced at his arm, which was horrid in every aspect.

“I’ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,” said Madam Pomfrey, trying to reassure the boy. “Now stand up – I assume you still have bones in your legs – yes good, come with me, you’re in for a long night in the hospital wing.”

Neville was so confused. She had gestured him to sit down and then demands he sit up.

“How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?” whispered Ron towards the girl, being silent enough to make sure that either Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall couldn’t hear. “If Neville had wanted de-boning he would have asked.”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Hermione, huffing. She continued to switch her gaze between Ron and Neville, who at least appeared to not be in pain. “And at least it’s not hurting him anymore, I guess.”

The small group reached the hospital wing in now time and Neville was thrown into a pair of pyjamas and pushed onto a bed at a speed that no one would have thought possible. They barely had time to say anything when the curtain shifted around the bed moved.

Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. She was holding a large bottle of Skele-Gro. “You’re lucky that Professor Snape and Mr. Potter made up some recently and kept it on them, as my entire stock vanished. Next time you see those two, send them a quick thank you.”

Ron looked disgusted.

“You’re in for a rough night,” said Madam Pomfrey calmly, while pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to Neville. “Regrowing bones is a nasty business.”

Neville sent the phial of Skele-Gro a curious glance, it had been made by Harry and Professor Snape? That in itself wasn’t an uncommon thing, both were about as good with potions with each other. He had never taken the potion before and slowly pushed the cup to his lips and allowed the potion to slip down his throat. It burned his mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter.

Madam Pomfrey began tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers. She eventually retreated away from the room and left the three Gryffindors for a moment of chatting. Before she left, she saw Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger tipping a glass of water down Neville’s throat, she sent them an approving glance before walking out, writing up a list of more potions she required.

“Even though we didn’t win, that was as bloody brilliant catch you made!” said Ron, looking at Neville who just smiled. “Heard Fred and George talking about the tactics that the Slytherin team used, hardly any fouls, and the ones they did weren’t obvious.”

“I think that was a part of Potter’s plans,” said Neville, thinking on it. “Why else would Malfoy keep flying towards him and asking things?”

“I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,” said Hermione darkly and frowned when she realised both boys were gaping at her. “Well, you two are intent on blaming everything on him, I may as well join in, and it did seem odd that he hardly cared about it and snapped at Colin when he plan obviously failed.”

“Well, we can just add that to the list of questions we’ll ask Malfoy when we’ve taken the Polyjuice Potion,” said Neville, sinking back onto his pillows. “I hope it tastes better than this stuff.”

“It’ll have bits of Slytherins in it. You’ve got to be joking, of course it’ll taste worse.”

The door to the hospital wing flew open suddenly, pausing the conversation in the room between the three Gryffindors. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived into the room and began to walk towards Neville, leaving trails of mud and water behind.

“That was some unbelievable flying, Neville!” said Fred as he rushed to Neville’s side. “Even though we didn’t win, ten points wasn’t half bad and catching the Snitch instead of Malfoy kept us in the chance for winning the Quidditch Cup this year.”

“We saw Potter, on the way here, chewing out the entire Slytherin team,” said George. “He was going on about someone jinxing the Bludger and he had his wand in his hand and was waving around.”

The Gryffindor team burst out in nervous laughter, unsure on how to react. “Potter is filling in as captain for the Quidditch team… heard he’s tutoring Flint in lessons and such.”

“That’s unbelievable,” muttered Wood as he huffed, leaning over Neville. “Flint will be here until after Neville here graduates, the man hasn’t got a brain.”

Ron burst out in laughter.

Wood dropped a few things on the table of Neville’s bed and began to laugh as the pile soon grew to a height no twelve year old should have candy wise. “Cakes, sweets and bottles of pumpkin juice. You’re going to be eating all this for days, Neville. I pity those that have to be around you if you eat it all quickly.”

Madam Pomfrey shouted from her office, causing the group to almost jump higher than the Astronomy tower. “What are all of you doing here?” she continued to shout at the group. “This boy needs rest, he’s got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!”

* * *

It was around twenty minutes before curfew when Harry walked into the hospital wing, a painful smile on his face. He spent a quick glance around the room and saw Neville Longbottom feigning sleep rather poorly. He held his snort and his laugh and shifted towards a cabinet just off to the side, behind the door. He began sifting through it, hunting for the potion he was looking for.

The door to the hospital wing was slammed open loudly and voices trailed in.

Harry muttered under his breath and leant down, hoping to stay out of view until they left. He wouldn’t have really cared what the professors had to say about his adventures as it wasn’t after curfew and he wasn’t breaking any rules. He lifted his head and peered out towards the group of professors and headmaster, who were levitating a stiff body behind them. He heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced towards Neville, who appeared to be a tad paler than he was moments ago.

“What happened?” whispered Madam Pomfrey to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.

“Another attack,” said Dumbledore grimly. “Minerva found him on the stairs.”

“There was a bunch of grapes next to him,” said Professor McGonagall, holding up a few of them. “We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Longbottom.”

Harry couldn’t see anything from the cabinet, but that didn’t stop him from digging around in it, trying to find a headache relieving potion. Teaching Flint has its limits. His eyes found Neville, who was still pale, but look a tad green now, like he was going to vomit. ‘Oh please don’t, you’ll attract attention over here.’

“Petrified?” whispered Madam Pomfrey.

“Yes. But I shudder to think… If Albus hadn’t been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have happened,” said Professor McGonagall as she glanced down at the boy, aware that Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey repeated the action. She watched as Dumbledore leaned forward and prised the camera out of Colin’s rigid grip. “You don’t think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer. He prised open the back of the camera. A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

“Good gracious!” gasped Madam Pomfrey, covering her mouth with her hand. “Melted…” she said sadly, stopping her own thoughts.

“What does this mean, Albus?” asked Professor McGonagall urgently.

“It means that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again,” said Dumbledore gravely, his eyes flickered towards Professor Snape who had just rushed in. “Any news?”

“Currently, there aren’t in bed and aren’t lingering in their respective common rooms,” said Professor Snape, brandishing a piece of parchment. His tone was surprisingly more upset sounding than it usually was. “Colin Creevey, first-year, Gryffindor. Neville Longbottom, second-year, Gryffindor. Harry Potter, second-year, Slytherin.”

Dumbledore bowed his head, his blue eyes lost their twinkle and he stood in silence for a moment. “You are rather talented in creating wards, Severus.”

“Ward Creation, a subject you should teach, is important for a potioneer, especially anyone who takes safety into account,” said Professor Snape. “You know this, headmaster.”

Harry cursed in his head while he fiddled in the cabinet, still searching for the phial of potion that he needed. He flicked his eyes towards Longbottom and gave the boy a cold look. ‘If he starts accusing me of petrifying people, I will be so displeased.’

Dumbledore went back into the previous action of standing still and thinking. “Severus, I know your connection to the boy, but this is out of my hands,” he said. “First was Mrs. Norris, which Argus still is determined to think that it was Mr. Potter, and now Mr. Creevey?”

“What could Potter gain from attacking the caretaker’s cat?”

“It’s suspicious, Severus, because Mr. Potter had threatened both before they were attacked,” said Dumbledore. “I didn’t want to believe it, and I don’t, but the evidence is piling up against him.”

“It isn’t Harry, headmaster,” said Professor Snape the instant that he could. “I know that it isn’t. You have my word. There must be a valid reason for him to be out of bed and out of the common room.”

“The concern is his impenetrable Occlumency shields, or walls, as some call them, Severus,” said Dumbledore, his face slightly paling. “Even if he was telling the truth, his ability to lie and change the truth with a simple practice of Occlumency makes him a prime suspect.”

“A prime suspect because he has studied and learned the Mind Arts?”

“Studied and learned both Occlumency and Legilimency to perfection,” said Dumbledore. “It took you around eighteen years of study and practice and his Occlumency walls make yours look something that a child would attempt.”

“If it was Longbottom who had these talents…”

“His ability makes him a huge threat to anyone and everyone who doesn’t understand the language, Severus, which is only a select few because the art is seen as dangerous,” said Dumbledore gravelly. “I know that you’ve done your studies on the subject, especially when you had reference material some of us would never have. You know that only a select few have mastered the art, one of them yourself.”

“I am not a Master Occlumens, Albus.”

“Even if Mr. Potter wasn’t lying about it, it would be far too hard to tell,” said Dumbledore, changing the subject. “He has this charismatic charm about him, this air of confidence and determination. If it wasn’t for his dislike for Mr. Longbottom, I have a high assumption that he would have already won over most of the school with his kind words.”

“He was taught and raised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Albus, what do you expect?”

Albus hung his head, speechless. “I don’t believe that he’s as cold and aloof as he likes people to believe.”

“If he didn’t act cold he would be constantly attacked by Gryffindors for being a Slytherin,” said Professor Snape. “Do you think any of these eleven and twelve year old students enjoy acting as if nothing bothers them? Do you think that they enjoy being called junior Death Eaters or any of the equivalents?”

“I didn’t mean that in the way you think, Severus, nor do I think that –”

“The Slytherin house doesn’t need pity, headmaster. We’re not the bullied house or the house that is misunderstood and needs guidance from the Gryffindor students,” sneered Professor Snape. “What are we going to do, headmaster? Are we going to tip some Veritaserum into Harry Potter’s morning cereal and then tug him away and question him about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“We could question him right now, Severus,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “He is, after all, in this room.”

If Harry wasn’t furious he would have complimented the headmaster on his wandless and nonverbal Human Revealing Charm. How the old man managed to cast it while focusing on the discussion with Professor Snape and not slip up was impressive. ‘An impressive party trick,’ he thought as his hand clenched around the phial that he needed. ‘What is curious is on how long the headmaster knew that he was actually there and whether he chose his words carefully and acted as if he hadn’t knew. Come to think of it, the headmaster had followed Longbottom with ease last year with the Mirror of Erised as well.’

“Come out, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, looking towards the cabinet.

Harry sighed and pulled his head from the cabinet and quickly stood, a blank expression in place as he held the phial of headache relieving potion. “Madam Pomfrey,” he said with a charming smile, “how pleasant to see you on this fine afternoon. You’re out of headache relieving potion.”

Madam Pomfrey, aware of the brewing conflict, smiled sweetly at the boy as she silently began to bustle around in the hospital wing so that she wouldn’t be dragged into any sort of conversation and had to give her opinion on it. She soon realised that everyone was staring at her. “Thank you, Mr. Potter, I shall have to write it up and get Severus to make me another batch.”

“Mr. Potter,” began Dumbledore, slightly concerned. The two words her spoke were calm on the outside, but on the inside he was rather worried and unsure. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing with us your actions today? The entire afternoon, straight after dinner, if you would.”

“I suggest that we go somewhere a little more… private,” said Harry sending a curious glance towards Longbottom, who was still feigning sleep. “That way Madam Pomfrey can work with Creeves and Longbottom, the latter appears to be awake and eavesdropping.”

The four of them bid farewell to Poppy, or Madam Pomfrey for Harry, and headed towards the Headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore took the first initiative and sat down at his desk, his hands clasped over his lap. “Now, Mr. Potter, if you would kindly inform us of your evening and the events that transpired.”

Harry sighed and slipped into the chair that the headmaster had conjured for him and Professor Snape. He placed the phial of potion on the desk, not wanting to fiddle with it. “As you’re aware, at least I hope so, I have slowly been helping or aiding Marcus Flint in a few lessons over the past few weeks,” he said. “Hence why his grades have picked up and he’s now studying at a fifth-year level and not the first-year level that he was previously at.”

“So that’s why Mr. Flint’s work has increased in quality,” said Professor McGonagall. “I simply assumed that he had been cheating.”

Harry and Professor Snape sent the Transfiguration professor annoyed glances.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and waited for the boy to continue explaining.

“As I was saying, headmaster, I have been aiding Marcus Flint in various studies, mainly Potions and in return he would help me slightly with Quidditch captaincy issues and requirements,” said Harry, his annoyance obvious in his tone. “From what I have learned from Marcus’ various ramblings about his recent grades, is that he has gone from a ‘Troll’ into an ‘Acceptable’ in most subjects. Something that he is thankful for and has been teaching me the more gruelling parts of maintaining a Quidditch team.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his temple, eyeing the headache relieving potion with a longing look. “As some of you will be aware, over the past few weeks, Marcus Flint’s grades have lifted from a Troll or Dreadful into an Acceptable in most subjects. I have been spending most of my own afternoons helping Flint with his studies, and in return I get free access to the work he’s doing and of course, he’ll teach me about the Quidditch captain position…” he trailed off and kept describing what he was learning from various Quidditch sessions and not that he was learning advanced theory from most fifth to seventh-year spellbooks.

“If you could speed it up, Mr. Potter.”

“Tonight was a rather painful lesson… testing my patience in every aspect as I tried to fill him with as much theory as I could, hoping that he would learn it this time,” said Harry, tapping his forehead. “As a result? I got a major headache, bordering on a migraine. I went to the hospital wing, knowing I had around twenty minutes before curfew, to retrieve a potion to aid with the start of a headache. When I reached the hospital wing, Neville Longbottom was out of bed, sitting up, his face somewhat flustered. In fact, you should be interrogating him instead of me.”

“He looked flustered?” asked Professor McGonagall, confused.

“Come to think about it, it sounded as if he was arguing with someone, someone young… a distressed first-year, perhaps. Honestly, the conversation was about the Chamber of Secrets and how Granger was a Muggle-born and in danger or something,” said Harry, shrugging. “Aside from that, I spent a majority of the day with the Slytherin Quidditch team, asking about the Bludger and if any of them did it – not that any of the professors seemed to care that a Bludger was charmed to attack a student relentlessly.”

“What did you come up with, Mr. Potter?’ asked Professor Snape, making sure that he would remember this moment clearly in the future. The shocked and upset facial expressions on Albus’ and Minerva’s faces was priceless. “The current rumour is that it was you that charmed the Bludger and sent it after Longbottom and that he had thwarted your plans by catching the Snitch.”

“None of the Slytherin team knew anything about the Bludger,” said Harry. “Being one hundred percent honest about the situation, I have no idea who has the ability to charm a Bludger to attack a student and make it so relentless without the initial charms on the thing overpowering it.”

“Oh,” said Professor McGonagall warily. “What do you mean?”

“There’s only two people that are currently in this castle that could override the Bludger’s inbuilt charms,” said Harry. “The charms on the Bludger and Snitch are simply amazing and unique in every way possible. I have my theories, but I’ll not waste my time now explaining it.”

“Sum it up in a few words.”

“Bludgers have anti-tampering runes engraved on the insides,” said Harry. “Not only that, but they also have charms and spells that stop them from seeking one player for far too long and have magic resistant runes etched into them so they cannot be controlled with magic. Summing it up: the Bludger was tampered with by a powerful and intelligent wizard, not a student.”

“Fascinating,” said Professor Dumbledore, looking slightly concerned.

“Now,” said Harry cheerfully, “let’s discuss the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said that the Chamber of Secrets had indeed been opened before – who opened it?”

The room lapsed into an uneasy silence. Fawkes, who had been eyeing the boy with caution from a distance, also fell silent. Dumbledore was the first to break the silence. “How do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, enemies of the heir, beware,” said Harry, remembering the bloody message on the wall with ease. “Besides, you confirmed that you know that it exists with your rather odd reaction to how I said it.”

“I see,” said Dumbledore, ignoring Minerva who muttered about Slytherins. “I guess we could switch this around and see what you know about the subject.”

“Indeed,” said Harry simply. “I have done a lot of research about the infamous Salazar Slytherin and everything that has been exaggerated during his life, such as his prejudice and using words that didn’t even exist until three hundred years after his death. The Chamber of Secrets exists but it wasn’t made to purge the school of unfit students seeing as Hogwarts was created to be a safe haven for all magic users against the Muggles, who were intent on burning them alive. The Chamber of Secrets was created to be Salazar’s tomb, along with his research and everything that he had studied. Rowena had one as well, but she simply called it the Tower of Wisdom and left it at that.”

The discussion continued and Harry continued to explain his theory, despite three rather infuriating professors that kept trying to prove his theory incorrect.

He wasn’t having it.

He was eventually led towards the Slytherin common room when the three professors had enough of being proven wrong at every direction because he was smart and knew what he was talking about. He clutched the potion in his hand, the feeling of elation at proving the headmaster wrong was the only thing that stopped him from instantly drinking it.

“I could almost say that you have a knack for getting into trouble and caught doing it,” said professor Snape, the edges of his lips forming into a slight smirk. “That’s rather Gryffindor of you, isn’t it, Harry?”

“How dare you say such things!” said Harry bitterly, his lips forming into a scowl and his eyes narrowed. “It took Slytherin cunning and stealth to sneak into the hospital wing to get a potion that I had created because someone decided to take my potions. I would have been successful in every aspect if Creeves didn’t get petrified trying to sneak into visit Longbottom.

“Right.”

“Why do you think Professor Dumbledore dislikes me?”

“It could be a number of reasons, Harry,” said Professor Snape. “It’s not worth our time nor effort to investigate them and see the reasoning behind the actions of the headmaster.”

Harry sighed, but kept walking regardless. “Maybe it’s because I was sorted into Slytherin, or because I’m intelligent and attractive –”

“Or perhaps because you’re vain?”

“– maybe because he knows I’m right, or because I’m putting his precious Golden Boy behind in classes,” continued Harry as if Professor Snape said nothing. “Also, Draco is the vain one, have you seen how much time he spends on his hair? Salazar aid me if one strand of his hair is not neatly in position.”

“While this really is a fascinating subject, Harry, I must be the one to inform you that I can no longer participate,” said Professor Snape in his usually icy tone, which did nothing but cause the boy next to him laugh loudly. “It is not funny, Mr. Potter, be thankful I don’t take five points and throw you in your first ever detention.”

Harry placed his hand over his heart and gasped in mock surprise. “You wound me, here I was thinking you would not sink as low to such tactics Professor McGonagall used last year.”

Professor Snape just grumbled under his breath and gave the boy a slight nudge at the entrance towards the Slytherin common room. When the entrance closed he looked at the portrait pointedly. “Allow no one else to leave,” he said in his stern voice and swept away, his robes billowed behind him.

Harry meanwhile was instantly informing Draco of how he was accused of petrifying Creeves and that he was thrilled they assumed he was powerful enough to petrify students. Other details were kept out, such as the discussion they had on the Chamber and the suspicious look the headmaster kept giving him. Thankfully Christmas was just around the corner and he could go home and relax for a while, away from this madhouse school and not be accused of petrifying people.

“Mother wrote to me a while ago and informed me that I’d be staying here over the holidays, even if you left,” said Draco sadly, his tone whiny. “I should write to father, he will be most displeased when he hears about what mother is planning.”


	18. Attempted Sabotage

Chapter 18 – **Attempted Sabotage**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 28/May/2016_

* * *

Harry woke up the following morning and just wished that he would be able to go back to sleep and that his internal clock wasn’t set on disobeying his laziness. Today was Sunday, a boring day, in fact, it was the most boring day of all, despite what most people say due to it being a relaxation day. He was sure, despite the day, that he would find some entertainment around the castle. Most of it would be about Creeves being petrified and that he was on his way to visit Longbottom… highly suspicious.

The Hufflepuffs would have a field day with that particular rumour.

He would enjoy the silence that would follow the petrification of Creeves. The boy was nothing short of an annoying nuisance that refused to shut up or go away. He would rather spend an entire month with Myrtle, the whiny, moaning, idiotic ghost than a single minute with Creeves.

He kicked off his sheets and hissed when his feet hit the cold dungeon floors. He couldn’t help but mutter about Professor Snape adding carpet to the dormitories and not making the students walk across the cold dungeon floor. He did know that most people work socks to bed to counter the cold floors, but he didn’t like that, socks restricted his toes while sleeping and it was aggravating. He took small steps across the cold floor towards the boys’ lavatory, enjoying the fact that he would be the first to use the hot water.

When Harry returned from his morning routine of showering, brushing his teeth and perfecting his hair, he stood in the door way with a very disturbing smirk on his face. He watched as half the room was now tiredly sitting up in their beds, rubbing their eyes as they glared at the sun which was rising faster than usual. Some stretched, others yawned and some just groaned and tucked themselves deeper into their blankets. “Good morning, lads,” he said in an overly cheery tone, something you’d expect from a mother that hasn’t seen her children in years and finally is able to see them.

Everyone groaned, even those asleep.

“It’s far too early, Harry, be quiet!” mumbled Draco into his pillow, trying to block out the overly cheerful friend that he unfortunately had. “Some of us aren’t weird and aren’t cheerful or excited in the mornings.”

“Oh, my sweet Drakey-Drake-Draco, you’ve spent more than enough time around me to know that I wake up very, very early and that I’m usually cheerful, despite the time or date,” said Harry, in the same tone as before, perhaps a little more forced this time around, just to annoy Draco. “Now, get up so that we’re not wasting away the morning with your laziness and help me understand this letter from my mother. It makes no sense at all, Draco.”

“Something the all-knowing Harry Potter cannot understand? Amazing,” sniped Rosier, who was half out of bed.

“Can you not call me that string of nicknames in the future?” said Draco, frowning. “You honestly sound like a very old relative that isn’t sure of what nickname to use, or whether he should use them, so he just uses them all.”

“If I wished to use all your nicknames, Draco, I would,” said Harry, a mischievous looking smirk found its way into his face. “I know a fair few nicknames of yours that Narcissa uses on a frequent basis. It would be… such a shame if I slipped and used one of them one day.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” said Draco, his teeth slightly clenched. He knew that Harry wouldn’t use them, but it was still unnerving to know that he could if he wished. “Just know that I have as much on you as you have on me. You’d be starting a battle on who can ruin the other person the most and you wouldn’t come out unscathed.”

Harry couldn’t help but to laugh at how serious Draco looked. He shook his head and then let out a little sigh. “Oh, Draco, was that some blackmail that I heard you trying to use, hm?” he said, humming in the silence that started. “It won’t work, Draco, you know that. I have no dirty secrets that could shred my reputation if ever leaked, nor do I really have any major secrets – unless of course, you plan to reveal what underwear I wear?”

Draco scowled and dropped the conversation as he focused on getting the clothes that he was going to wear for the day. He knew that Harry knew what he was going to use. The story of how Harry almost had a tantrum over a pair of children’s underwear. Whenever he thought back on the memory, he couldn’t help but laugh.

** ** FLASHBACK ** **

_Harry and Draco were chatting idly as they walked down the busy streets of Diagon Alley with Narcissa, who was somewhat window shopping as they walked passed each store. The two eager eight year old boys were quick to point out things that they wanted in each window and nine times out of ten, they got it. The sun was shining perfectly over the alley, allowing wizards and witches to shop without getting drenched in rain._

_Harry wore a pair of simple grey shorts that reached his knees, a pair of white sneakers and a forest green t-shirt which had a small picture on the front. Draco was wearing similar clothing, except for a white t-shirt and a pair of black slacks. It wasn’t even close to standard wizarding attire and they were both sure that if Abraxas saw them he would pitch a fit, claiming that they weren’t Muggles and that they wizards and should dress like it. Who, in their right mind, would question two young boys who had picked out their own outfits for the day? No one, that’s who._

_Harry was essentially bouncing on the balls of his feet at the excitement that the day had so far provided. His usually pale skin was slightly tinged pink due to the sun and the tips of his ears were slightly burned. None of that mattered and it hardly deterred him from having as much fun as he possibly could._

_Harry and Draco proceeded to hop, skip and jump along the uneven paths of Diagon Alley. They each hopped from foot-to-foot at the counter of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, each waiting impatiently for their ice-cream that they could devour along the journey. They had held the bowl of ice-cream for no less than a minute before it was dripping all over their fingers and half way up their arms._

_Narcissa, who had heard the giggling, took faith in the charms placed on the small plastic bowl that would contain the ice-cream. So when she turned and looked at Harry and her son, who both had more ice-cream than skin on their hands, to question why they were giggling she couldn’t help but send both of them a look of disbelief. Of course, she had said that this was their day, despite the warnings to behave and act decent in Diagon Alley. She wouldn’t punish either of them for being children, it was in their nature and she would feel bad for scolding them._

_Instead, she settled for simply waving her wand and vanishing the ice-cream on their hands._

_Harry was pressing his small face, and his now clean hands, against the glass window of Eeylops Owl Emporium. He had begged and pleaded his parents for an owl so that he could write to Draco and that he would take good care of it. He had stated that he remembered to feed Nagini often enough and that he wouldn’t forget to feed the owl. He was told no countless times, no matter how much he asked and pleaded for an owl. He was pulled by Draco from the window and forced to look at a shop called Broomstix, which sold broomsticks. He sent the pretty owls a longing look as he was tugged away._

_Draco, who was ignoring his friend’s obvious dislike of Broomstix, continued to pester him about the newest models of broomsticks that would be coming out in a summer or two. He was eventually tugged away by his mother, who directed them towards Sugarplum's Sweets Shop, with a firm warning of only being allowed to buy three sweets. Draco got two Liquorice Wands and one Cauldron Cake. Harry decided to buy one Chocolate Frog and two bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans._

_“I shouldn’t spoil you,” said Narcissa, sending both the boys a look before directing them out of the shop. “Our next stop is Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Draco needs a new outdoor robe… again. Then our last stop will be Twilfitt and Tattings, where I need to buy Draco some new pants, because he is growing far too fast.”_

_Harry gave a childish bout of laughter at his friend’s misfortune of growing and needing new pants. Of course he followed behind silently, his hand digging into the packaging of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans as they walked down the uneven paths of Diagon Alley. “Eww! I got an odd tasting one!” he stuck out his tongue and screwed up his face. From that moment onwards, he had decided to never ever eat a grey one again!_

_The three of them soon finished at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and soon found themselves walking towards Twilfitt and Tattings at a slow pace. Both Harry and Draco were now devouring the sweets they had gotten on the walk, which caused Narcissa to just shake her head. The two boys soon weaved around other people who were now stepping out of shops and got quite a few cheek pinches from older ladies, who found them adorable, even while eating sweets._

_Narcissa picked up a few different pairs of pants and pushed them against the front of her son, who stood still for her, which she was thankful for. “Horrid… clashes with your eyes… Merlin, no… hmm… maybe this? No… this? Nope… khaki will never be on you… would be funny as a joke, but not today…”_

_Harry was slightly amused with how Narcissa was handling the situation with his friend, almost spearing pants at the boy’s front and then muttering to herself about how they would look in different situations. He walked around the store, looking at various clothes and accessories that he vowed to never wear in his life. He came across a pair of black underwear with little snakes on them that slithered around the waistband, he begged Narcissa for them, and glared at Draco when the boy laughed._

_Narcissa gave in after she received a begging facial expression from Harry and picked up the underwear, putting it in her hand, along with Draco’s pants._

** ** END FLASHBACK ** **

“I still have that pair of underwear, Draco,” said Harry, smirking. “So it isn’t all that bad. The snakes still move around the waistband, despite the age.”

“They’re pretty old…”

“Almost as old as the pair of lion socks that you got a few years ago,” said Harry. “I remember them quite well. They used to roar silently.”

Draco gasped. “Those socks were comfortable! Even if they had lions on them, they were still silver and green! Slytherin colours!”

“Imagine if the socks were red and gold… wouldn’t that just be so ghastly?” said Harry, suppressing the laugh that was threatening to come out. “The Gryffindor common room is so bright and hideous that I’m amazed the lot of them haven’t gone insane or have permanent brain damage from the constant bright colours.”

“If you two wouldn’t mind!” snapped Blaise, pulling the blankets to cover his neck. “I was hoping to get at least thirty more minutes of sleep! You two are honestly worse than two old women gossiping.”

“It’s almost seven o’clock, Blaise, you should already be awake and dressed, not lazing about in bed all day,” said Harry, his tone cheerful. The smirk on his face widened as he heard a groan from Blaise and another from Theodore. “I almost forgot you were here, Theodore. I’m glad to see you awake and with us on this fine morning.”

“Be quiet, Harry!” snapped Theodore, sounding far more tired than he was. “I swear to Merlin, Salazar and any other deity that is around that IU will end you if you continue to speak in that awful cheerful tone any longer. Let us sleep for at least thirty more minutes!”

Harry rolled his eyes and slowly walked back towards his bed, which had the covers neatly thrown over it and a book placed next to the pillow. “Fine! I’m going to go and read for the next thirty minutes and then I’ll simply come back and wake you all up with a well-placed Stinging Hex,” he said as he slowly picked up the book that he was going to read and slowly immersed himself in it.

_Page 33: Basic Spell Manipulation._

_The subtle art of spell manipulation isn’t a well-known art, nor is it openly practiced. The theory behind spell manipulation is expansive and is, without a doubt, one of the biggest branches of magic in the world behind its brother: spell creation. While only less than a single percent of wizards attempt to manipulate a spell, less than half of that actually succeed. Some of the greatest Dark Wizards known have tried and failed at this branch of magic and very little is recorded on it, despite how large it actually is._

_Manipulating a spell is highly dangerous and shouldn’t be practiced lightly. This chapter is no less than an introductory and will explain the theory and practice behind the art. Much like Legilimency, spell manipulation requires a practical approach, not a theoretical one._

_Spell manipulation shouldn’t ever be confused with its brother, spell creation, as the two are far from similar, despite the fact that most assume they go hand in hand. Spell weaving is also similar, as is spell modification, but all four of these arts are different and can be achieved differently._

_The most famous (or infamous) practitioners of manipulating spells have been dead for a very long time and are as follows: Salazar Slytherin, perhaps the most well-known of the bunch; Godric Gryffindor, rumoured that he never used it offensively, only defensively; Rowena Ravenclaw, who was said to have studied the art alongside Salazar Slytherin; Herpo the Foul, claimed to be the person who first manipulated a spell in open combat; and Morgan le Fay, who killed her half-brother with a manipulated spell – rumours, of course._

_There are no spells to be cast, no rituals, no sacrifices or anything that nature in regards to studying this fine and rare art. Putting what you’ve learned will be the most taxing and egregious on your mental wellbeing. Magical exhaustion is a common side effect of attempting to manipulate a spell, even more-so if you’re manipulating a spell cast by another._

Harry read the page once more before he gently flicked the page and settled on reading the next page, hoping to absorb more information regarding something that he would love to do. Imaging being able to manipulate a simple spell and changing it so drastically! The possibilities were endless. He had finally reached the chapter in his little Dark Arts books that referenced this very topic and they had informed him to go into the Restricted Section and pick up this book.

He was confused on why it hadn’t been removed by Dumbledore, seeing as it taught Dark Arts, but he realised that the first few chapters were excruciatingly dull and made him want to put the book down and the only reason he didn’t is because he knew at chapter thirty-three, he would learn what he was currently learning.

_Page 34: Basic Spell Manipulation._

_Spell manipulation requires a lot of will, intent, and knowledge. It’s comparable to Apparition, which requires the use of the Three D's: Destination, Determination and Deliberation. One must be completely determined to reach one's destination, and move without haste, but with deliberation. Manipulating a spell requires the performer to know what they want to happen and then have the will, intent, and knowledge to make the change happen_ –

Harry scowled. The infernal foot tapping that he had heard since reading the next page was getting more frequent. He looked up, pulling the book towards his chest, and saw Draco standing in front of him, fully clothed and ready for the day. “Would you mind not doing that?” he said, noticing that Draco was the one tapping his foot. “It’s annoying.”

“I’m not so sure, Harry, after all, you did wake us all up with your unusual cheerful mood and then you instantly retreated back to your bed in order to read a book,” said Draco, attempting to imitate Professor Snape, which he almost succeeded at. “I do apologise, Harry, I had no idea that the tapping of my foot was disturbing your reading.”

“It’s not like you lot were better conservationists than a book,” said Harry, closing the book. “While you lot decided to snooze and laze around all day, I, on the other hand, gained important knowledge that will continue to stay with me during my long and positive life.”

“Of course…”

Harry stood, placing the book in his trunk with one smooth motion. He was a fair amount shorter than Draco, which removed any sort of intimation methods that he had tried to employ. “Now, Draco, will you tell me why you’re standing in front of my bed tapping your foot like some kind of impatient child waiting for a birthday present?” he said, ignoring the snort from Theodore and the slight chuckle from Rosier. “Hm, Draco, do tell.”

It took Draco a few moments to regain his composure and not burst out laughing when he glanced at the serious facial expression of Harry. “It’s funny that you should use the same term that my father and Professor Snape use. What makes it even funnier is the fact that I’m a child and that your statement makes no sense at all. In fact, we both are,” he said, ignoring Harry’s muttering about children. “Now, I have an idea, one that I think would be wise for me to inform you about.”

“Another one of your ideas, Draco?” said Harry. “Brilliant. I cannot see any way that this could go wrong.”

* * *

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting students’ names of those who would be staying at the castle over the Christmas holidays. The list this year, compared to last few years, was tiny. She watched as Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger all signed their name with a smile, she did notice that their eyes scanned the list as they did so.

“Potter’s name wasn’t on the list!” whispered Ron as soon as they sat down. “Neither was Malfoy’s.”

“He’s staying behind for the holidays, I already know from Lily, who sent me a letter telling me to inform Harry that it would be best if he remained at school for the holidays as she and James were rather busy,” said Neville calmly, his eyes betraying the inner turmoil that he attempted to hide. His gaze shifted towards Harry, who was sitting with Rosier and sneering at the boy. “He’s most likely just waiting for Malfoy to stay behind with him.”

“The potion is half-finished. We still need some Bicorn horn and boomslang skin, and the only places we’re getting those is from Professor Snape’s private storeroom,” whispered Hermione carefully, not wanting to attract attention. “I heard that Potter once raided Professor Snape’s private storeroom, so maybe we can the blame on him.”

“Harry brews potions with Snape, I doubt that Snape will blame Harry, even if he has no one else to blame,” said Neville, sighing. He dropped his shoulders. “Plus, Harry wouldn’t need to steal anything, he can just get it ordered in.”

“What we really need is a distraction,” said Hermione, her tone slightly tense. “Maybe we can avoid blaming anyone and just get the ingredients before Professor Snape realising that they were taken.”

“I’m sure he’ll know the moment he goes and checks,” said Neville. “Lily said that he was a perfectionist and knew were everything was in his store rooms.”

Hermione was slightly tense as she realized the afternoon double potions was approaching rapidly, and by rapidly in fifteen minutes. She ignored the nervous look by Neville and Ron. “I think I’d better do the actual stealing,” she continued, in a matter-of-fact tone. “You two will be expelled if you get in any more trouble, and I’ve got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Professor Snape busy for five minutes or so.”

Neville smiled at her feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape’s potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. “If you think this will work, Hermione, I’m in.”

Ron stood up and nodded. “Me too!”

The potions lesson took place in one of the large dungeons, as usual. Thursday afternoon’s lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively.

Neville’s Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He was waiting for Hermione’s signal, and he hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully another Gryffindor, he caught Hermione’s eye, who gave a discreet nod. He ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred’s Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket and gave it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing he had only seconds, he straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air, straight towards Harry’s cauldron, which he felt slightly bad for, as Harry hadn’t yet failed a potion.

Harry had just added his bat spleen, he glanced over his potion and smiled at how perfect it was, not that this potion was considered to be hard to brew, only morons, like Neville, would fail to make it properly. He was just about to pick up his stirring rod when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. It was his first lesson, really. When brewing, keep your eye on the potion, but as well as your surroundings. What looked like a firework flew towards his potion, he raised a lid that he kept nearby and placed it over his potion.

He smirked at the sharp ‘ping’ that happened when the firework bounced off his lid and flew towards Goyle’s potion, which caused his smirk to vanish from his face. He watched as the firework seemingly bounced off Goyle’s shoulder and dropped into his potion, which was already horrid to begin with. He managed to pull Draco down just in time to see the potion splatter everywhere, he thanked Salazar that he covered his own potion, meaning he would pass the class.

Goyle’s potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Crabbe got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon. Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of dinner plates. Theodore had only just managed to duck most of the mess, his arm took the hit of the potion, causing Ito swell to the size of a troll’s leg. A few of the Gryffindors were splattered with the goo as well, the girls screamed when they saw what they looked like.

“Silence! SILENCE!” roared Professor Snape, his black eyes boring dangerously into each student who was screaming. “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught. When I find out who did this…” he trailed off muttering threats under his breath, mainly about Gryffindors. He began handing out phials of Deflating Draught and watched the various sized swellings vanished. He swept over to Goyle’s cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. “If I ever find out who threw this, I shall make sure that person is expelled.”

Harry’s eyes instantly snapped towards Neville, who appeared to be trying to make his face look puzzled, of all things. He soon realized that Professor Snape already knew that Neville did it, it didn’t take a Legilimens to know that. He quickly bottled his potion and walked to the front. “I finished my potion a little quicker than the allotted time,” he gave the professor a knowing smile.

“While some students were aiming to sabotage other’s potions, it is clear that Mr. Potter is above such things and took the necessary precaution to shield his own potion from the attempted sabotage. Fifty points to Slytherin.”

The entire classroom paused and gaped at the huge number.

Neville had a feeling that Harry was given so many points just to spite him.

When the bell rang, Neville, Ron and Hermione were the first students out of the potions classroom. They quickly made for the second floor, where they would begin to add the ingredients to the Polyjuice Potion.

On the stairwell, Neville frowned and turned to face Hermione and Ron. “Snape knew it was me, I could just tell.”

“And what was up with giving Potter fifty points!” said Ron, fuming. “That has to be the largest amount a student has ever received in a classroom.”

“Of course Professor Snape knew that you were the one to throw it,” said Harry, kicking off the wall that Mrs. Norris had been petrified at. “Rule number one of being a Potions Master is that you’re perceptive and know what’s going on around you. As such, he also knows that Granger had snuck out of the classroom and stole ingredients. You know he has a ward on that which alerts him the moment someone opens it?”

“What do you want, Potter?”

Harry ignored Weasley, who was grating on his nerves just by standing there. “I’m actually waiting for the headmaster to barge down the corridor and tell you that thieving will not be tolerated at Hogwarts and that you’ll be expelled for it,” he said, imitating the headmaster perfectly. “Of course, you’re the boy-who-lived, the saviour’s friend – nothing bad will happen to you. Honestly? I don’t think that the headmaster would even care if you killed off half the school or throwing around dark magic. He’d chuckle it off and mutter about kids being kids.”

“Is there any reason why you excessively bash Professor Dumbledore?”

“If I wished to bash, as you so eloquently put it, the headmaster, I would be,” replied Harry, sneering at Granger. “My only question is to you, Longbottom, and that’s why you decided to target my cauldron with your stupid firework?”

Neville wasn’t sure on what he should say to Harry. He instead chose to just send the boy a sheepish look as the boy glared. “Yours was in the open,” he blurted out. “It was the best target.”

“Thank you for actually informing me that you did it,” said Harry smugly, his facial expression revealed how smug he was about playing Longbottom. “You had to toss the firework over Draco’s cauldron for it to land in mine… not the best shot that you could have made as if either of us moved even an inch forwards it would have bounce doff us and hit the floor – ah – if the firework went into Draco’s cauldron, the range of the potion would have splattered over towards you three and Professor Snape would have realised that Granger was absent. I am impressed.”

“Impressed?” repeated Ron, disbelief filled his tone. “I don’t understand, how –”

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, interrupting him. “Someone’s coming, hide!” she pulled Neville and Ron into a nearby alcove, which was hidden from view by a rather long tapestry. She watched as Potter just smirked and leant back on the wall, waiting.

“Potter!” said Professor Snape as he entered the corridor. “Have you been digging around in my personal stores again?”

Harry smirked at the icy tone that the professor was using, it almost made him want to laugh. “I’m rather pleased that you instantly accuse me despite the fact that I order most of my ingredients from Slug and Jiggers in Diagon Alley,” he said with a knowing smirk, standing ramrod straight as his eyes flashed in amusement. “Of course, you would know if I had taken ingredients and when I had taken them as I saw that little system that you have in place. That little alert ward that beeps the moment the door opens? Ingenious.”

Professor Snape wasn’t pleased, his face turned into a sneer as he glanced around the corridor. “And what are you doing in this corridor? Idiot boy, do you want people to keep accusing you of petrifying students?”

“Perhaps I do, professor, perhaps I want people to fear me and quiver whenever they see me,” said Harry, his facial expression eerily blank. “That first-year Gryffindor boy that wet himself in the library at the sheer thought of speaking to me was a great experience, professor.”

“Idiot boy…”

“A cat and an annoying first-year Gryffindor that was more annoying than Myrtle were petrified,” stated Harry. “Why are people mourning? Creeves was exposing our world with his stupid camera and deserved what he got. What was the boy doing with those pictures? Sending them home to Muggles to show them what we can do? We should hit him with an Obliviate and toss him into the nearest ocean and leave him to attempt to swim back to his house.”

Professor Snape was speechless, unable to even form a simple thought. “It would be wise if you kept your opinion to yourself, Harry,” he said simply. “Now, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” repeated Harry. “Allowing Nagini to hunt rats.”

“Keep your fantasies in your head, Potter, whatever is happening isn’t a good thing,” snapped Professor Snape, unable to deal with Harry’s uncaring attitude. “If these attacks continue, then the school will be closed indefinitely. I have spoken to the headmaster and he has informed me that these attacks have happened before and when I asked who, he was rather cryptic and said the most obscure thing.”

Harry rose an eyebrow and studied Professor Snape closely. “And what did the headmaster say?”

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes. “He said: _The question is not who, the question is, how_. Then he proceeded to trail of and speak about how dangerous this situation could become. This matter is serious, don’t joke about it, if people begin to question you, you’ll have Veritaserum shoved down your throat and they’ll tear everything about you from your head.”

Harry stood still, but his eyes portrayed all his emotions that he wished to vent, he pushed it aside and studied the potions master for a brief moment before he spoke. “Of course this situation is dangerous, but so is anything that is given enough credit to be dangerous. Clearly the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened before, and rather recently too, which if I can recall correctly, it’s the first time it was ever actually opened. So that means it should be obvious that it’s not me, you shouldn’t worry about me and what other people think. If a bunch of people want to assume that I opened the Chamber of Secrets and that I actually have the ability to petrify people, then let them, it’s nothing that bothers me.”

Professor Snape just watched the boy, his face flashed with different emotions. “You’re far too intelligent for your age, remember that wisdom comes with age and not how intelligent you may be,” he said and turned and swept away from the boy. ‘Such intelligence and yet so blind, so stupid,’ he thought as he swept from the corridor, towards the dungeons. ‘Being accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets, even if it has no merit, isn’t something that he should shrug off so easily.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter nineteen is currently being rewritten.  
> It should be completed by: 31/MAY/2016.  
> This note will be removed and added to the next chapter when the chapter has been updated, as will the note on the first chapter.
> 
> And the new adding of chapters begins. :) This one may have more errors than usual as I've had a headache for the past three days and I get a headache simply trying to read anything. I did a quick sweep, but that's it. If something doesn't make sense or is repeated, please let me know.


	19. Secrets Revealed

Chapter 19 – **Secrets Revealed**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 31/May/2016_

* * *

Less than a week later, Harry and Draco were walking across the Entrance Hall when they spotted a small group of students, obviously gathered around something that was pulling every student that came into the Entrance Hall towards it.

Harry, not wanting to be in the dark, instantly crossed the hall, dragging Draco unceremoniously with him. “What’s going on?” he asked Rosier, who had a slightly excited facial expression, something most pure-blooded wizards would frown at. “Well? Spit it out.”

Rosier took a few deep breaths, knowing that Harry would appreciate and love this piece of news. “The professors, they’re starting a schoolwide Duelling Club,” he said happily. “The first meeting is tonight, in a few hours, to be precise.”

“Oh this’ll be so much fun,” said Harry, grinning. “I hope I get to duel Longbottom and Weasley! I could take the both of them on without breaking a sweat and that’d be with one hand tied behind my back and my eyes closed.”

The three Slytherins shoved their way through the crowd to get a better look at the notice.

“Who do you think will teach it?”

“I’m putting money on Professor Snape or Professor Flitwick,” said Harry. “The latter was a duelling champion in his youth.”

“And Professor Snape?”

“A duelling champion in general, Rosie.”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That!”

The small group clumped around the notice vanished with excited chatter about the upcoming Duelling Club. While most, if not all, of Slytherin had a theoretical grasp on duelling, the same couldn’t be said about the other houses. None of this meant that the Slytherin students wouldn’t toss all their training aside and act like idiots at the first mention of being able to actually duel.

Harry kept sending Millicent Bulstrode curious glances as the slightly beefy woman glared at him, he did wonder how he had annoyed her.

Harry, Draco and Rosier all walked towards the Great Hall at ten to eight, each hoping to have a joyous experience and have fun while decimating their fellow students in the art of duelling. While Harry had some sort of cruel smirk on his face all afternoon at all the things he could do if he was versing Longbottom, Weasley or Granger in a duel. Quite a few Slytherins had given him a wide berth and left him to his evil scheming.

He knew all the rules of duelling like the back of his hand. He couldn’t wait to bend them to his will and make Longbottom suffer.

The long dining tables of the Great Hall had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“I wonder who will be teaching us,” said Hermione, whispering to Neville. She edged in front of Potter and Malfoy, unaware that she was being glared at by both of them. “Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young, maybe it’ll be him.”

Neville nodded, he had heard the rumour recently and had heard it from someone before that and he just couldn’t put his finger on it. “I honestly don’t mind who it is as long as it’s not –” he forced himself to not groan alongside Ron when he saw Gilderoy Lockhart walking onto the stage in his flamboyant walk, wearing deep plum robes alongside Professor Snape, who was wearing his usual black.

Professor Lockhart waved one of his arms for silence. “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!” he said in a loud voice, he took of his deep plum robe top and threw it towards the girls in the crowd, who all dove to catch the piece of fabric. “Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.”

A boy in the crowd snorted, which was followed by chuckles and a slap.

“Let me introduce my assistant Professor Snape. He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself –”

“A little?” whispered Harry, looking amused at the simple statement. “That is more asinine thing I have ever heard and I’ve heard Weasley spew some idiotic things.”

“Like?”

Harry lifted his voice into a perfect imitation of Weasley. “Professor Snape is gonna steal the Stone, ‘Mione!” he said, snickering. “My twenty brothers and I are decent wizards and deserve to go to Hogwarts.”

“Shut up, you git!”

“Be quiet, Weasley, wizards are speaking.”

“– and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry – you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!” finished Professor Lockhart, he flashed a smile towards the crowd.

“Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?” muttered Ron into Neville’s ear, they both chuckled for a few seconds before being nudged by Hermione.

“Wouldn’t it be good if your pathetic family stopped breeding like rabbits?” sneered Harry.

Neville hadn’t ever gotten used to how cutthroat and mean Harry could be when he wished to actually hurt someone. Malfoy was nothing short of a prat compared to Harry who made even the seventh-year Slytherins pale in comparison to mean taunts and low blow jabs at family. He listened in as Malfoy made another childish attempt to insult Ron, and as he had said before, it made him look like a child compared to what could and did say.

“Most wizards enjoy family, Potter, unlike you –”

Neville hastily threw his hand over Ron’s mouth before he could say anything regarding Lily or James as Harry would react badly and he feared what Harry would do to Ron. ‘Harry’ll say anything and everything he can to offend someone, but when it’s reversed, he reacts badly and curses before asking questions,’ he thought as he turned his attention back to Lockhart.

Professor Lockhart and Professor Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Professor Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Professor Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” said Professor Lockhart. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course – one – two – three!”

Professor Snape bared his teeth slightly and swung his wand over his shoulder, he wasn’t one for flashy tactics, but he would put on a show as he humiliated Lockhart. “Expelliarmus!”

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Harry and Draco both burst in fits of laughter, which caused most of the other Slytherins to lose it and begin laughing.

Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers.

“Who cares?” Neville and Ron said together.

Professor Lockhart climbed steadily to his feet and stood still for a moment before he began tottering back towards the stage. His hat was left near the wall and his hair was a mess. “Well, there you have it! That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I’ve lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss. Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see –” he paused and glanced at Professor Snape, who looked murderous. “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me.”

The two professors sifted through the crowd, pairing up students with each other. Lockhart paired Seamus Finnigan with Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Professor Snape rounded on the Golden Trio, a sneer on his face. “Time to split up the dream team, I think. Weasley, you can partner Malfoy. Longbottom, don’t you move close to Miss. Granger, you’re against Potter, and you, Miss. Granger – you can partner Miss. Bulstrode.”

“Face your partners!” called Professor Lockhart, he was standing in the center of the platform. “And be sure to bow!”

Harry did nothing. He didn’t bow or draw his wand.

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Professor Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – only to disarm them – we don’t want any accidents. One… two… three!”

Harry and Neville were the only pair that didn’t make a grab for their wands. Neither wanted to give away anything on a practice duel.

“Stop! Stop!” screamed Professor Lockhart, who was slashing his wand around violently.

Professor Snape sneered and drew his wand. “Finite Incantatem!” he said in his usual icy tone.

Ron’s feet stopped dancing and Draco stopped laughing, they both looked up at what was happening. A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Seamus and Justin were lying on the floor, panting. Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain. Both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Neville leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult; she was a lot bigger than he was.

“Dear, dear,” said Professor Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you get, Macmillan… careful there, Miss. Fawcett… pinch it hard, and it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot…” he trailed off, aware that only one pair wasn’t gravely injured. “I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells.”

Professor Snape muttered under his breath.

“Let’s have a volunteer pair – Weasley and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?”

“A terrible idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Professor Snape, gliding over towards the said professor with a smirk. “Weasley causes devastation with simple first-year spells, let alone duel correctly. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox. How about Potter and Longbottom.”

“What an excellent idea,” said Professor Lockhart, gesturing the two boys onto the duelling platform and everyone else away from it. “Three… two… one – go!”

Harry had drawn his wand, knowing that everyone now watched the scene with rapt intent. It was now that he would prove himself worthy of beating Longbottom, the incompetent wizard. He stared at Longbottom, watching as the boy twirled his wand nervously. ‘Good, he’s scared,’ he thought bitterly, ‘and so he should be.’

The issue with Longbottom was that while he was self-trained, Longbottom was taught by a slew of different witches and wizards before he even set foot in the castle. He knew that Dumbledore, his mother, James, the Weasleys, a few Aurors that blindly followed Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix members had somewhat trained Neville Longbottom. The boy wasn’t an overachiever and was comfortable by still passing, but the boy was gifted in magic.

“Diffindo!”

Harry sidestepped the spell and sent the boy a mocking glare. A first-year spell was expected from the wizard that made Filch look powerful. “Expelliarmus! Glacius!”

It was Harry’s start of a potent spell-chain, one that people would soon fear. The wand movements from the first curse followed neatly into the jab from the latter. He was an offensive dueller, not a defensive one like Longbottom, despite the boy throwing the first spell.

Neville threw a Tickling Charm at Harry, who hit it in mid-air with the same spell, causing a flash of red light to flash around the room, illuminating the darker corners. The students gasped and were curious on how the two of them used the same exact spell for the second and third time in a row.

Professor Snape instantly what was going on, he had used Legilimency in battles before but not to the degree that Harry was. He knew that Harry wasn’t doing it to win, but to humiliate Longbottom and make him look incompetent and forfeit the match. Too bad for Harry that Longbottom would never forfeit, no matter what. He had learned that much when he was forced to watch the boy train with Alastor Moody.

Harry was positively furious that Longbottom was still standing firm against his attacks and the duel had lasted more than five minutes, which was impressive for two twelve year old boys. He didn’t like the delayed duel, especially since every student now had their undivided attention on the duel. “You should just concede, Longbottom, how do you even try to stand up to my superior duelling skills?”

“Not likely!” said Neville, throwing up another weak shield. “If you’re so good, why haven’t you won it yet?”

Harry harrumphed and simply set Longbottom’s robes on fire with a well-placed and timed spell. “Well, well, _well_!” said Harry, grinning. “Look at what happened, Longbottom, your robes are on fire.”

“Well spotted,” said Neville, glaring. “And you didn’t press that to your advantage?”

“I’m confident in my abilities to put you down soon enough,” said Harry, smirking. “While you were off getting tutored by the fabled headmaster, I was being realistic and learned my own magic. I didn’t waste time studying simple Tickling Charms, Longbottom.”

Neville threw a Cracker Jinx towards Harry, who swatted it away and returned the favour instantly. “Your own magic?” he said, trying to taunt Harry. He knew that once you got him angry he would begin to fail. “You mean the kind that your father wouldn’t approve of?”

Harry hit the Dancing Feet Spell that Longbottom had sent him with a Cascading Jinx, causing a large explosion of blue to fill the platform. “It’s funny that you should mention James, Longbottom, as I doubt no matter what I do he’ll be impressed,” he said. “You know that more than me. You lost your father so you attempted to take mine. No matter, no matter – I have mother.”

The duel escalated from there, going from mindless schoolyard hexes and curses into somewhat duelling spells with higher intent, causing more powerful effects and reactions to each spell hit and countered. Despite this, they were still children and had a large grasp on theory, but they were twelve and the duel would be considered boring by most adults.

Harry threw Severing Charm after Severing Charm at Longbottom, who managed to either dodge them or block them with his weak shield. While most would consider the Severing Charm to be harmless, it wasn’t when thrown by him, he had intent to cause harm and that’s what he wanted. Each spell was targeting Longbottom’s wand hand, and it took four, but one got through and the boy let out a sharp intake of breath.

He let out a laugh and continued his taunting and relentless assault on Longbottom, who had managed to regain his footing. “You look injured, Longbottom, how unfortunate.”

“Who would openly taunt someone in a duel?” whispered Hermione, her hands slightly trembling. “I just don’t understand.”

“Death Eaters…”

“Ronald!” said Hermione, shocked.

“He’s right,” said Rosier, his tone reluctant. “It was the Death Eaters that taunted their enemies relentlessly. You asked who would openly taunt someone in a duel and you got your answer. However, you’ve known Harry for a long time, Weasley, can you honestly tell me that he would simply bow down to anyone? He’s very stubborn…”

Ron grumbled.

“Harry will never be a Death Eater,” said Rosier. “He’s not a follower.”

Ron’s reply was cut short by the deafening cheer of the students. He perked up, knowing that Neville had won as no one would cheer for a Slytherin. Much to his disbelief he spotted Potter standing and then Neville a few meters away. ‘Good,’ he thought happily. ‘Neville can still win.’

Neville panted, sweat clinging to his forehead as he watched Harry smirk at him. He realised that Harry hadn’t really broken a sweat at all, instead he looked as if he had just stepped onto the duelling platform. Of course, that caused Moody’s words to fill his head as if the man was saying them right behind his ear. He quickly banished the thoughts on aggressive duellers lasting longer than defensive ones because defensive spells required more magic to block than what was sent.

“Depulso!”

Neville wasn’t quick enough to block the Banishing Charm and paid for it by getting hurled across the duelling platform. His mind twirled and he heard Lockhart scolding Harry for not using appropriate spells. A fourth-year spell as a second-year must’ve been discouraged. “Stupefy!”

Harry ducked it, glaring. “Avis!” he muttered and watched as a flock of small, colourful birds appeared from thin air. “Oppugno!”

Neville’s eyes widened as the swarm of colourful birds flew at him. He took a step back and flicked his wand upwards, “Finite!” he said with a pant. His eyes winded even further when he realised that only one the colourful birds vanished and the rest charged at him and began pecking him ruthlessly.

“Cannot even deal with a few conjured birds, Longbottom? Pathetic.”

The two soon found themselves facing each other, wands held firmly. Harry had enough of this duel and dealing with Longbottom, of course he had humiliated the boy, but hadn’t caused him to concede yet, it was a hard task.

Neville wiped his forehead with his sleeve and raised his wand.

“ **Attack him, no matter what, he threatened a speaker. Do your duty and protect me** ,” thought Harry in Parseltongue as he twisted his wand upwards. “Serpensortia!”

The snake landed in the center of the platform and hissed angrily at the human that was standing there, shivering. “ **Attacking a speaker**!” started the snake, clearly uneducated in strings of words like Nagini. “ **You will suffer**!”

“ **A speaker**?” said Neville, confused. “ **I didn’t attack any speaker**.”

The snake instantly stopped moving. “ **Two speakers** …” the snake trailed off in snake gibberish. “ **Speakers attacking speakers**.”

Harry didn’t like this. How could Longbottom, the clueless idiot, know how to speak Parseltongue? He had watched him since Nagini had dropped a hint about it, but he shoved it aside with a grain of salt, hoping that Nagini was wrong and he was right, like always. He wanted to say something, to taunt Longbottom but the entire Great Hall was silent and the students were just standing around, gaping.

“ **Go away**!” hissed Neville. “ **You’ve caused enough trouble**.”

The snake flicked the boy with its tail and spun around and went back to the person that summoned it. “ **I apologise, master, I couldn’t attack another speaker**.”

Harry knelt down and picked up the snake, ignoring its cries and gently stroked the scales on its head. “Do you concede, Longbottom?” he asked bluntly. “You look like you’re about three words from relieving yourself on the floor.”

After the first-year Gryffindor had wet himself, it had become a common jibe at Gryffindors, one that even Hufflepuffs sometimes joined in on.

“I – I conceded,” said Neville, tucking his wand away and pushing through the crowd, dragging Ron and Hermione with him.

“Useless wizard,” said Harry to Draco. “Most likely stole the ability from someone. The Longbottom line hasn’t got a trace of Slytherin blood in it. I know that for certain.”

* * *

Ron tugged harshly on Neville’s robe, pulling him towards the nearest door. “Come on! Move it! Come on!” he whispered into Neville’s ear as he steered him out of the Great Hall and towards Merlin-knows-where.

Hermione hurried alongside them, a concerned facial expression on her face. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something.

Ron twisted Neville around and stared at him. “You’re a Parselmouth?” he said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t know,” replied Neville, his tone showing just how distraught he was about the entire situation. “I didn’t even realise I was speaking something other than English! It sounded the same.  How can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?”

Hermione gave Neville a concerned look. “That must mean that you have some sort of advanced control over the language.”

Neville huffed. “What does it matter if I can speak Parseltongue? I doubt anyone cares.”

“It matters because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for,” whispered Hermione. “That’s why the symbol of Slytherin house is a serpent.”

“Exactly!” said Ron. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something –”

“I’m not!” said Neville, his tone unwavering. He knew he wasn’t.

“You’ll find that hard to prove, Neville,” said Hermione, her tone certain. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”

“No, Hermione, I’m not,” said Neville firmly. “Gran has shown me our family tree often enough that I can almost recognise it when I blink. The Longbottom line didn’t exist when Salazar Slytherin was around, in fact, the Longbottom line is new compared to most of the families in Europe. Let’s see, the Potter line was started officially in the thirteen hundreds – give or take a few years – the Longbottom like started three hundred and fifty years ago, coming from a foreign country and marrying into a dying line, which saved them and redeemed our family line.”

“Oh,” started Hermione, only to be quietened when Neville continued.

“While we’re not the descendants of the Gryffindor line, like the Potter line, we’re fairly close,” said Neville.

Hermione spluttered and almost fainted at that news. “Harry Potter!” she said, surprised. “He’s a descendant of the Gryffindor line?”

“Apparently,” said Ron, no jealousy in his voice. “The Potter line is claimed to be the last descendant left. It’s been rumoured that the very first Potter was a spare of the Gryffindor line and fled to somewhere else, but it’s all speculation. Since the Potter line was founded, no Potter has gone elsewhere than Gryffindor – Harry Potter broke that tradition.”

“Wow,” breathed Hermione. “Do they have a family tree?”

“The Potter tree, along with the Gryffindor tree is gone…” said Ron, trailing off. “No one knows where they are, not even James.”

“I don’t understand,” said Hermione, grunting. “How did Potter, Harry, land in Slytherin then?”

“I dunno…”

Hermione picked up her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and began flicking through it. “Because it says here –” she pushed the book towards the two boys, “– that an heir to any of the founders will go to their respective houses, no matter their traits, qualities or ability in magic.”

Neville and Ron hadn’t even read the first three words before the book was yanked from them and Hermione began flicking through it again.

“Maybe Potter’s the heir of Slytherin and the Sorting Hat just chucked him wherever,” suggested Ron, laughing.

No one else laughed.

“For all we know, he could be,” said Ron, leaning against the chair. “The Slytherin tree was placed in the Chamber of Secrets – so they say – or at Slytherin’s birthplace, which no one alive knows.”


	20. Another Attack

Chapter 20 – **Another Attack**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 04/June/2016_

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes he realised that he wasn’t in his bed, instead he was surrounded by one hue of colour and that was white. The walls, sheets, floors and roof were white and it was driving him insane from the brightness. He hated himself for passing out somewhere in the many corridors and that he had to be dragged here by someone, hopefully no Gryffindors saw it. He blinked and glanced around, trying to figure out if someone was around as he had heard something, as idiotic as it may be.

He first realised that he had been undressed and redressed in those hideous blue and white stripped pyjamas that were frequent in the hospital wing.

How in Salazar’s name did he collapse and get sent here? He knew that he didn’t overexert himself because if Longbottom was fine then something else was wrong.

He turned towards the person that had dragged a chair across the hospital wing and was currently putting a small amount of weight on the left side of his bed. He smirked when he realised it was Draco, who had fallen asleep reading his Transfiguration book.

He glanced out the window and realized that it must be early in the morning. The windows looked to be covered in ice and heavy snow fell from the sky, making the window look like it was pure white. He instantly knew that the last lesson, which was Herbology, would be cancelled, as it’d be impossible to do anything in the greenhouses today.

By the time the afternoon had crawled around, Harry was restless, the chilling sensation of snow that sat perched on the windowsills. He shivered and looked around, the castle was darker than it usually was in daytime. He walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, he walked on by, making his way towards the library, that way he could study sixth year Charms, hopefully to help Marcus Flint a little more.

He flicked around the shelves looking for a book when he caught Longbottom leaning gently against a bookshelf, looking at a group of Hufflepuffs, the very same Hufflepuffs who should be in Herbology. The small group sat around, huddled very close together doing anything but studying, it appeared as if they were engaged in a very absorbing conversation. He picked up a nearby book and flicked it open, keeping his ears focused on the conversation that he had just moved close enough to hear. While he was aware that Madam Pince was somewhat drawn to his charm and charisma, it wouldn’t be enough to make her let him casually eavesdrop instead of studying.

“– you seriously cannot be that stupid, Ernie!” said Hannah, her facial expression tense. “How can you even believe that it’s Potter that’s still going around petrifying people?”

“He’s rude, Hannah…”

“Yes,” said Hannah, sighing. “He’s rude and mean to people, especially Neville Longbottom, but he was nice to us and made us feel welcome, something no other house has really done.”

“Not to mention that he did help us with our studying and he made that Hufflepuff and Slytherin study group that was rather popular and boosted a lot of our grades,” said Susan, her voice soft. “Let’s not forget the fact that he did help Justin with wizarding etiquette and things to help him fit in.”

“Oh, please,” said Zacharias. “Justin only accepted that help because he has a –”

“Shut up, you git!”

“Calm down, Ernie,” said Zach, shifting uncomfortably. “No need to be so defensive.”

“I just cannot see Harry Potter wanting to petrify other students,” said Susan. “Where’s Justin? It’s not like him to be late.”

“I told him to stay and hide in our dormitory for today,” said Ernie, his chest puffed out slightly. “You see, I used to think that it was Potter petrifying students, but you two have caused me to rethink that.”

Hannah and Susan smiled.

“But now I’m not sure, it could be Longbottom too, now. I told Justin to avoid them both, he was slightly upset that his friendship with Potter would suffer, but I had to do what I had to do.”

Hannah and Susan frowned. “Ernie,” began Susan at the same time Hannah threw her quill at him and called him a prat.

“Justin’s blood status is now known, Susan, and you heard what Potter said to Granger... he called her a –”

“I know, Ernie,” snapped Susan. “He called her a –” she lowered her voice, “– Mudblood.”

“Isn’t Potter’s mother a Muggle-born witch?” said Hannah, confused. “Lily Evans, I think, was referenced by both Professor Flitch and Professor Sprout as the brightest witch of her age. She was a prodigy in Charms.”

“Hm,” said Zacharias. “That sounds about right.”

“I know that Harry Potter has issues with his father, especially since the start of his attendance in Hogwarts,” said Susan, looking concerned. “My aunt spends times with James and tried to offer him advice with Harry, but James Potter ignored it.”

“You definitely think that it’s Harry Potter?” said Hannah, looking at Ernie with some nervousness. She and her parents had been invited to the Potters’ house a fair few times over the years and she hardly saw Harry Potter, even at the frequent Malfoy Balls that had been hosted over the years. “We cannot just accuse him for it with no evidence.”

Ernie rubbed his forehead, messing up his neatly combed hair. “Not as I did before,” he said, frowning. “I mean now that we know that Longbottom is a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue. Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir Beware. Longbottom had a run-in with Filch at the start of this year, something about crashing a flying car. Next thing we know, Filch’s cat’s attacked. That first-year, Creevey, was annoying Longbottom when Weasley was attacked with that Slug-vomiting Charm, taking pictures of Weasley while he vomited slugs, I heard Longbottom was angry. Next thing we know, Creevey’s been attacked.”

“Didn’t Potter threaten Filch and Creevey as well?” asked Zacharias. “I heard that Potter had threatened Filch when he was going to get a detention, threatened to do something to his cat! As for Creevey? Potter has never really liked him, to be honest. He calls him by the wrong name, sneers at him and even smiled when he learned that Creevey was petrified.”

“There’s no solid proof, Zacharias,” said Susan. “The Bloody Baron vouches for him, constantly and the Hogwarts ghosts cannot lie, neither can the portraits.”

“They can lie,” said Zacharias. “If Potter is the heir of Slytherin, then the Bloody Baron is loyal to him, not the headmaster.”

“He’s always had an alibi!”

“A constant alibi is more suspicious than one that has holes in it,” said Ernie. “Let’s not forget that it was Lucius Malfoy that taught Potter.”

Hannah sighed. “This is a pointless debate,” she said tiredly. “Longbottom is so nice though… and, well, he’s the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can’t be all bad, can he?”

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer. “No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark Wizard could have survived a curse like that.” He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper. “That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Longbottom has been hiding.”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk as each word that was defaming Longbottom was said. Who knew that the Hufflepuffs would be the one to start rumours on Longbottom? They were well-known gossipers, but starting them was what the Slytherins did. Of course, Longbottom had to ruin his amusement by being a typical Gryffindor and trying to tackle the group head-on before they could say anything juicy.

Shifting the book in his hands, he couldn’t help but grin at the expression that each of the Hufflepuffs got when Longbottom cleared his throat near them. The sight of said boy made the students look as if they had been petrified. None of them had moved since Longbottom had cleared his throat, besides the initial flinch of his presence. Poor Ernie had it the worst, the colour had drained from his face and he looked about as white as the snow.

“Hello!” said Neville in a friendly tone, ignoring the fact they all flinched the moment he spoke. He ignored the slowly rising anger that he felt and just smiled. “I’m actually looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley, I – uh – need to speak with him about something.”

Every single one of the Hufflepuffs flinched almost violently when Neville had spoken, the two girls and Zacharias Smith turned towards Ernie, fear in their faces.

“What do you want with him?”

Neville ignored the slightly hostile tone. “I heard that he was upset that I could speak to snakes and I just wished to clear up anything that may have come between us,” he said softly. “I’m sure if I could just run it over him, it’ll be swept under the rug soon enough.”

Ernie bit his bottom lip, unsure of what to do. “We were all there,” he said, taking a deep breath. “We all saw what happened – you speaking Parseltongue and making the snake turn and look at Justin.”

“It didn’t even look at Justin!” said Neville, his tone defensive. “I was telling it not to attack me as I – it didn’t even get close to Justin.”

“It was a near miss,” said Ernie, causing the other Hufflepuffs to nod in agreement. “And in case you’re getting ideas, I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so –”

“I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!” said Neville fiercely. “Why would I want to attack Muggle-born students? Hermione’s a Muggle-born…”

Ernie just sat quietly, staring at him with a look that said it all. He watched as Neville turned around and stormed from the library angrily, which got him a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

Harry took that very moment to cause some more damage for Longbottom and slipped into the spot he had just vacated, pulling up a chair. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing any of you in here – not attending Herbology? It’s quite risky to skive of the class that your Head of House teaches.”

Hannah stared.

“Oh right,” continued Harry, not waiting for a reply. “The weather, of course.”

“Yeah, Professor Sprout sent us all away and said to work in the library,” said Susan. “Here we are.”

“Where’s Justin?” said Harry innocently. “I promised to give him my notes for Defence Against the Dark Arts, the attack on Mrs. Norris and that first-year Gryffindor unnerved him and I promised that I’d give him my notes so that he could study over them and relax a little bit.”

“Justin wasn’t feeling well so he remained in the dormitories until he feels better – doesn’t want to see the petrified people in the hospital wing,” said Ernie, not meeting Harry’s eyes. “I can give Justin the notes, if you wish.”

Harry nodded and started to dig around in his shoulder bag, searching for the notes he had prepared for this very situation. It payed to be prepared for anything, at least that’s what Lucius said. “If you could, please, I’d appreciate it. I feel so bad that it took me a long time to compile, but I’m sure the neatness and the layout will benefit anyone that actually reads them.”

“There’s more than one set here,” said Susan, confused.

“Of course!” said Harry, nudging the notes towards Ernie. “That way all of you can read them, except you, Smith, as you’re too stuck up to take my notes.”

Hannah and Susan giggled while Zacharias sneered.

“That’s… thoughtful of you, Harry,” said Ernie. “We’ll go over them tonight.”

“I suggest keeping your head down and travelling in groups,” said Harry. “If someone or something is attacking students, I doubt it would attack groups and seeing as both Mrs. Norris and Creeves were supposedly alone when attacked, it makes sense. Leave the heroics to the Gryffindors. I see no shame in fleeing if it’ll keep you alive.”

“Good idea,” said Hannah. “Is there anything else that you can think of?”

“There’s not many things that can actually petrify, so it has to be either a powerful spell or some kind of exotic animal,” said Harry, thinking. “Wouldn’t surprise me if it was some beast that oaf bought in. Last year it was a dragon, what could it be this year?”

“A dragon?” repeated Ernie. “Hagrid had a dragon? That’s dangerous.”

“It bit Weasley…” said Harry, holding the laugh. “Anyway, I have a question.”

“Ask away, Harry.”

“Why did Justin flee the Great Hall when Longbottom spoke Parseltongue?” asked Harry. “I mean, he’s a Muggle-born, not that I care, but he never seemed like the type to run from something. I always pictured him as a loyal fighter.”

Ernie had a nervous look on his face but remained steady. “When we first met, he asked us what was unique in the wizarding world and when the topic of Parselmouths came up he seemed overly interested, like he wished to learn it. He realised that you had a snake and that he wondered if you could speak it,” he paused for a moment, as if leaving the statement hanging for an answer. “We soon told him that You-Know-Who was a Parselmouth and that almost every Parselmouth alive has been evil. Just look at You-Know-Who.”

“Not all Parselmouths are bad, Ernie,” said Harry. “It’s just like the fact that a snake isn’t a sign of evilness or darkness. The snake, at one stage, resembled healing.”

Ernie nodded. “Justin made the connection himself that anyone who spoke to snakes was evil. After Creevey was petrified he has been really jumpy, constantly saying that he can hear hissing and that You-Know-Who is after him. Granger put ideas of the Chamber of Secrets in his head, so that didn’t help. I guess Longbottom speaking to that snake freaked him out.”

“Longbottom isn’t anything special,” said Harry, looking somewhat annoyed at the fact that Justin was calling him evil. “I would tell Justin that he shouldn’t fear him and that Longbottom is nothing but a fat lard that can hardly cast first-year spells. I have never seen or heard him speak to a snake before and I saw nothing in his mind when I’ve peeked in it. I think that Longbottom was just as spooked that he could speak to snakes as the rest of you.”

“You think?” asked Hannah, breaking the small silence. “I mean, all these attacks… who else could it be?”

Harry thought on that for a few moments and wondered how he could continue with his train of thoughts to defame Longbottom and not dig a hole with the Hufflepuffs sitting in front of him, eager to hear what he has to say. “Longbottom is just as clueless as us, I think. The attack on Mrs. Norris, the flea ridden cat, was a coincidence that he was there and nothing more. He was apparently injured when Creeves was attacked, not even three minutes away from the hospital wing. If it happens again and Longbottom is there, then we know for sure.”

“You could be covering for him,” said Zacharias sharply, not meeting Potter’s eyes. Something that most students tended to do these days.

Harry couldn’t stop the snort at the stupidity of that one comment. “You couldn’t pay me to stick up for Longbottom, let alone protect him in any way. I’m also not sure what you mean by covering for him. You know, Smith, if I had a say in anyone who gets attacked, it would be you as you’re nothing short of an arrogant prick who was placed in Hufflepuff and not Gryffindor because of your ancestors.”

Ernie laughed, despite the fact he didn’t want to as it wasn’t that funny. “Almost everyone knows that Harry would rather attack Neville than defend him, Zacharias.”

“Longbottom was essentially raised on a golden pedestal, I’d love to see him knocked off it.”

“ **Youngling, get up** ,” hissed Nagini, popping her head from Harry’s robes. “ **Something is happening, it does not feel right**.”

Harry stood up abruptly and picked up his bag. He sent the Hufflepuffs a curious look and then gestured at them. “Something is going on,” he said cryptically. The sound of doors opening and closing, things slamming and shouts filled the hallway as the small group left the library, moving at a quick pace towards the commotion. He realised that Smith hadn’t followed, not that he cared about that arrogant prat.

“What is it?’ asked Hannah and Susan in a hushed yet scared tone. They followed behind Ernie, who was walking a few paces behind Harry with confident steps, knowing that they would be safe with Harry and Ernie up front.

Harry turned the corner and squinted as he saw a figure kneeling over a body on the ground. A closer look revealed that it was Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn’t all. Next to him was another figure. It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin’s. Before he could say anything, Peeves the poltergeist decided that he would speak.

“Why, it’s wee Longbottom!” cackled Peeves, almost knocking Longbottom from his knees. “What’s Longbottom up to? Why’s Longbottom lurking –” he stopped, halfway through a mid-air somersault. Upside-down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs. “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!”

“Caught in the act!” yelled out Ernie, pointing his pale finger at Neville. “Who did you petrify this time? Hm – oh my, Justin!”

“That will do, Macmillan!” said Professor McGonagall sharply, her glare silenced anyone else who even thought about saying anything.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. “Oh Longbottom, you finally got him, oh what have you done? You’re killing off students, you think that it’s good fun –”

“That’s enough Peeves!” said Professor McGonagall, interrupting the childish song before anyone else heard it and started to repeat it across the school. She watched as Peeves zoomed away backwards, with his tongue out at Neville.

Harry turned to Ernie, who looked distraught at seeing his friend petrified. “I thought he was sick, what was he doing down here?”

“Maybe he was coming to the library, he wasn’t sick, I told him to stay in the dormitory!” cried Ernie, his voice broken. “I thought he’d be safe there.”

“It’s alright, Ernie, it’s alright,” said Hannah, her tone soothing. She wrapped the boy in a gentle, but comforting hug. “No one could have predicted this, it’s just good that he isn’t dead.”

Harry watched as the professors fussed over the boy and left Longbottom, who was cowering against the walls, alone. “This makes very little sense, I cannot –” he paused and watched as Ginny Weasley finally appeared, she had tears drizzling down her face, and her eyes looked to be filled with pain. He narrowed his eyes when she gasped.

“You don’t think that Weasley did it, do you?” said Susan, following Harry’s gaze. “You know that she’s a first-year, right? I doubt that she could manage something like this.”

“Longbottom is a second-year with a mediocre grasp on magical theory,” said Harry, squinting at Weasley, trying to find a fault. “This is the second time that she has been the last person to arrive at the attacks… even behind her friends and family.”

“Why not just use Legilimency on her?” said Susan, not even bothering to mask her surprise at the fact the twelve year old next to her knew such a rare talent that most wizards spent two or more decades to just learn the basics. “The entire school knows that you’re a capable Legilimens, which is rather odd and unique for a person your age, but I’m not going to argue.”

“I can’t,” said Harry, not even bothering to hide his disappointment. “Weasley, Granger and Longbottom cried to the headmaster about it and he decided that it wasn’t a good thing that I could look into other people’s minds, not that I did unless I knew they were hiding something. He, Dumbledore, said something about it in a letter and that if I did it again that I would be in trouble.”

“That’s unfair,” said Susan. “It’s a magical talent, you should be able to use it as you wish.”

“He’s also hypocritical,” said Harry. “Dumbledore is a Legilimens as well and he freely uses it on students. That twinkle in his eye appears when he’s using it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because every Legilimens gets some sort of indication in their eyes when they use it as they’re connecting minds,” explained Harry. “Moment you see someone’s eyes go funny, whether they twinkle or get glazed over, break eye contact.”

“Sounds useful, thanks,” said Susan, turning to look at Ginny Weasley. “Why do you actually suspect her?”

“Just look at her, Susan,” muttered Harry. “She’s been crying for weeks on end, hardly ever eats and when she does she avoids conversation, as if she’ll be punished for talking to anyone and in the first and this attack, she was the last to arrive – far from a coincidence. Speaking of that, I swear I walked by her on the night that Creeves had been attacked and petrified.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed,” said Harry, suspicion filling his green eyes. “I swear that I saw her walking around that night… looking panicked and generally filled with regret.”

The small conversation on accusing Ginny Weasley was cut short when Professor McGonagall made the announcement to take Justin to the hospital wing, who would be carried by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy professor. No one seemed to know on what they should do for Nearly Headless Nick, who was still floating eerily in the air. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs.

Ernie fanned the ghost along with help from Hannah and Susan, the latter of the three waving a quick goodbye to Harry.

“This way, Longbottom,” said professor McGonagall once every student had been cleared out. “You as well, Mr. Potter.”

Neville followed behind, his eyes cast downwards. “I swear, professor, I didn’t –”

“Oh be quiet, Longbottom, you were caught, alone, standing over the body of Justin.”

“Mr. Potter, that is quite enough,” scolded Professor McGonagall. “I don’t want to hear you two bicker and accuse each other of attacking students.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course, Professor McGonagall,” said Harry, as charmingly as he possibly could.

“Sherbet lemon!”

The two boys were shoved onto the steps that began to rise upwards with a loud clanking noise. Harry pushed open the door, not even bothering to knock and stepped into the headmaster’s office, wondering what he was doing here as he had nothing to do with the attack. “May I ask what exactly am I doing here, professor?” he said the moment he saw the headmaster.

“Is that your pet phoenix, Dumbledore?” asked Neville, just pushing his way through. “Wow!”

‘ _I had no idea that Albus Dumbledore had a pet phoenix_ ,’ said Tom, whispering gently behind Harry’s ear. ‘ _All your internal muttering about how he’s evil and manipulative is obviously wrong as the phoenix can sense wrongdoing a mile away. The moment that Dumbledore crossed a line, the phoenix would leave_.’

Harry ignored Tom, knowing that said person had no idea what he was on about. Dumbledore was clearly twisted in the head. The grandfatherly act was such a façade if he ever saw one.

Tom laughed loudly. ‘ _You’re blinded by hatred,_ ’ he said. ‘ _Petty hatred that you push to the front of your mind and what’s worse is that you believe yourself and think that it’s correct_.’

Harry knew he was right. He had his suspicions on Dumbledore the moment he started that grandfatherly act. The Philosopher’s Stone was clearly put in this school to tempt the Dark Lord, Voldemort, into attacking the school.

‘ _Oh my_ ,’ said Tom. ‘ _Well, keep those thoughts to yourself, lest you publically speak them and people laugh at you_.’

Fawkes, the annoying phoenix, made a trilling sound that echoed off the walls and bounced around the room, making all occupants, except two, happy and giving them an elated feeling.

“ **Filthy bird annoys my senses** ,” hissed Nagini, displeased.

Before Dumbledore could say anything regarding why they were there, the office door had been flung open by none other than the oaf and he appeared in the room, holding a rooster around the neck and waving it around madly. “It wasn’ Neville, Professor Dumbledore!” shouted Hagrid. “I was talkin’ ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir.”

“Would you be kind enough to go and wait outside while the educated people try and communicate?” said Harry, sneering. “Honestly, whenever you speak I feel my IQ be tugged downwards and I fear my intelligence is slowly decreasing with every second spent in your company.”

“Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore tiredly.

“It can’t’ve bin him, I’ll swear it in front o’ the Ministry o’ Magic if I have to!”

Dumbledore looked at Hagrid, concern in his eyes. “Hagrid,” he started, ignoring the muttering from Harry Potter. “I believe that –”

“Yeh’ve got the wrong boy, sir, I know Neville never –”

“Hagrid!” said Dumbledore loudly, making sure that Hagrid had stopped speaking. “I do not think that Neville attacked those people.”

“Oh, right. I’ll wait outside then, Headmaster,” said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. He stomped out of the headmaster’s office, looking rather embarrassed.

“Why do you even bother paying that man any money when he has no respect for anyone in the castle, not even himself,” said Harry, looking at the massive dirt footprints that the oaf left. “I don’t think I have ever seen someone butcher the English language as much as he does. Did he not finish schooling?”

“It’s none of your concern, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore. “Hagrid has been on staff for many years, almost as long as any other professor.”

Harry straightened. “Of course, headmaster, but that doesn’t mean that I will not be writing the Board of Governors about that man. He’s a serious threat to my person and many other students the way he waves around dead turkeys and just barges into rooms, trailing mud all over the place. Did you know he had a dragon last year? What if it attacked a _decent_ student?”


	21. Suspicious Behaviour

Chapter 21 – **Suspicious Behaviour**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 10/June/2016_

* * *

Harry sat on the chair that he was forced to sit in and glared at the headmaster and his stupid bird. He had learned in a few minutes that the headmaster was always correct and that he shouldn’t question Hagrid. He wanted to laugh in the headmaster’s face and begin writing the letter to the Board of Governors right then and there. He knew that Lucius, who was on it, would support his claim to get the oaf fired and shipped off back to his cave in the middle of the forest.

“Would either of you like something to eat or drink?” asked Professor Dumbledore, waving his hand over the table, causing a small silver tray to appear with small amounts of snacks and bite sized edibles on it.

Neville agreed and watched in amazement as a tea appeared out of nowhere and was gently floated towards him. “Thank you, sir.”

“And you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry hummed as he thought on what he wanted before repeating that to the headmaster and watching as the man did the same thing and the tea appeared in front of him. ‘It’s not possible to conjure food or a liquid as complicated as tea,’ he thought. ‘Perhaps a silent way to pass the orders to the house-elves in the kitchens.’

Dumbledore didn’t say anything about the boy not saying thank you or using any manners because he realised that the boy was in thought, in the same way that Lily had been the first time she had seen him do the same thing. The only difference was the curt nod that Harry Potter gave when he figured it out, quicker than his own mother had.

“You know, headmaster, a lot of the Slytherin students assume that you put various potions in those lemon drops that you eat and that you wandlessly and nonverbally vanish them before you eat them and that they have caught onto your wicked ways of drugging students with Veritaserum-laced candy.”

“That’s quite the tale, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, leaning towards the small porcelain dish that contained the lemon drops that he ate constantly. “And do you believe these rumours?”

“It has merit,” said Harry, ignoring Neville, who let out a soft gasp. “But I don’t believe it due to the fact that each headmaster has to sign a magically binding contract when they begin their tenure as a headmaster. It was put in place by the founders after their first headmaster abused the position and harmed students.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Not that I would ever do such a thing as drug students with any sort of potion, whether it be Veritaserum or a harmless Calming Draught.”

“The Slytherin students only feel that way because whenever something happens, it’s always them that gets questioned first,” said Harry. “The troll last year that Professor Quirrell let in, the sixth and seventh-years were questioned furiously by Professor McGonagall and the recent opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Who even said about the Chamber of Secrets belonging to Salazar? No one, it was just assumed and the entire Slytherin house was once again put under questioning.”

“That’s always comforting to hear,” said Dumbledore. “Now, Mr. Potter, do you have any idea of why you were called alongside Mr. Longbottom?”

Harry studied the headmaster, who was peering tenderly over his glasses, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, hidden by the desk, but made visible by one of the trinkets off to the side. “I have no idea, headmaster, if I did, I’m sure the conversation would have already started and we wouldn’t be going in a roundabout discussion,” he said, smirking. “So, with that said, I wouldn’t mind if you would explain in detail why I was brought here when I was with Ernie, Susan and Hannah in the library.”

“I didn’t call you here to accuse you of petrifying Mr. Finch-Fletchley, nor did I ask you to attend to discuss the petrifactions,” said Dumbledore, his voice coming off as calm and inviting. “I simply invited you here so that we could discuss what you’re doing after lessons.”

“You called me here to discuss my extracurricular activities, headmaster?” said Harry, slightly sceptical. “Forgive me, but that makes no sense.”

“Not all of them, Mr. Potter.”

“Now I know what one you mean,” said Harry. “You mean to tell me that you wish to discuss the fact that I am aiding Marcus Flint with his theory work with a few classes? That’s odd because you would have had no idea that he was being helped if I didn’t say anything. I mean, Professor McGonagall thought the boy was cheating instead of picking up knowledge from a better source.”

“The big jump in his grades was suspicious.”

“Of course,” said Harry coldly. “You must forgive my stupidity for wanting to teach the other students, no matter the house, information. After the small study group I had with the Hufflepuff house was cancelled because I was encouraging cheating, I decided to help those from my own house.”

“That isn’t what I meant at all, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, ignoring the part of him that screamed that Harry Potter was exactly like Lily was when she was dedicated on something that benefitted the other students. “I was just suggesting that it would be wise to allow the professors to take over that way you don’t lead him down the wrong path and cause him to stay back a year.”

“Clearly the professors were doing such an amazing job as he barely understood half the theory behind it,” said Harry sarcastically. “I asked him what he knew and all he could explain was the stuff that’s taught in first and second-year.”

“But teaching him seventh-year material is far beyond your level, no matter how intelligent you may be.”

“It’s a good experience for me, anyway, headmaster, as I would one day like to become the professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts and any experience is good experience.”

Dumbledore paled just a few shades the moment those words were said. They came out in the same tone that Tom Riddle had used all those years ago, a tone that said he would get what he asked for. “Surely, Mr. Potter, your talents lay in Potions and not Defence Against the Dark Arts, which requires a substantial amount of knowledge on the Dark Arts and defending against them.”

“I do agree, one day I’ll become a Potions Master, but I still would love to teach a class like Defence Against the Dark Arts, you see, I want to help people learn.”

“You do know, Mr. Potter, that I couldn’t hire you straight out of school as you require at least five years minimum experience out on the field?” said Dumbledore. “That’s the bare minimum for the job and then you need to have experience fighting the Dark Arts and of course do some work as an Auror.”

“So, in a sense, it’s pointless to even bother to apply for the unless I already have five years’ experience, plus another five as an Auror and maybe even more just to apply for the position?” said Harry, pondering the required time needed to become a professor. “I always assumed that you took your N.E.W.T.s and then used what you attained to apply for jobs and not spent a minimum of ten years doing nothing. How ridiculous of me.”

Dumbledore forced himself to not be surprised, which he was, instead, he chose to just send the irate Slytherin a smile. “Most professors were over the age of twenty-five when hired, Mr. Potter.”

Harry snorted, as did a portrait off to the side. “If I remember right, which I’m sure I am, Professor Snape was around twenty-one when he was hired to become a Potions Master. That’s four years early for a field that requires more study and more theory than Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Professor Snape was hired under special circumstances, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, leaning forwards slightly. “You should know that even at Severus’ young age, he was by far the most talented potioneer in Europe. I, however, didn’t bring you here to discuss what age Hogwarts hires its professors, nor do I wish to discuss the subject at the current time period – try in a few years, perhaps in your fifth-year.”

“Fifth-year?” repeated Harry, dumbstruck. “What’s the difference between now and then?”

“You’re helping Mr. Flint with material far beyond your own knowledge Mr. Potter, that’s the issue.”

Harry gave the headmaster a lour look and shifted on the seat, which had oddly enough just become rather uncomfortable. “While I cannot do the practical work as I’m unable to cast any of the spells that are taught at seventh-year at the moment, I can, however, teach him the theory as there’s no age requirement on that.”

“Right you are, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore. “But that doesn’t mean that you should learn everything before you’ve even sat for your O.W.L.s.”

Harry was going to say something, but he soon realised that the headmaster was apparently done with him as he turned towards Neville Longbottom abruptly and picked up the tray of lemon sweets, waving it tauntingly under Neville’s nose, hoping to coerce him into trying the sweets. ‘Must suck to be the only personal mentally unstable enough to eat buckets of lemon flavoured sweets per day,’ he thought, watching the headmaster and Longbottom interacts as if they were old friends.

“I do believe that there’s more important things to address, for now, why don’t you tell me what happened at the Duelling Club, Neville?” said Dumbledore, still wafting the bowl of treats. “I do urge you to try one, Neville, they’re fantastic –”

Harry cut their useless and trivial conversation out of his mind as he sat there, wondering whether he should just get up and leave or stay and actually focus on the conversation for something he can use against Longbottom later on. He watched, waited and hoped that the conversation between them would morph into something decent and would provide him with some useful information.

It didn’t.

He instead chose to look around the Headmaster’s office, hoping to occupy himself with the various knick-knacks that were sitting harmlessly on the shelves or behind a few thin panes of dust covered glass. His eyes caught sight of a few rare and somewhat illegal books pressed into the bookshelf that looked as if it would crumble if any additional weight was added. Off to the right was Fawkes’ perch, which stood proudly in the small area that was clearly assigned to it. Behind the perch was a spiral set of stairs that twisted and led upstairs, which contained a small room that held a few chairs, a tangled rug and a large circular object which obscured the view of the floor-to-ceiling window, which held some sort of pattern on it.

Looked to be in Gryffindor colours as well. How vile.

His eyes landed on a sundial, which was just to the left, on an older looking stool, he observed it for a moment before flicking his attention back towards the headmaster and Longbottom, who appeared to have finished excluding him.

“Well then,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “I feel as if we should clear all these matters up before I send you both on your way.”

That confused harry as he assumed they were done and he was just waiting to be dismissed.

“If Mr. Flint requires any sort of help with his studies, I’m sure he’ll be wise to ask a professor instead of you,” said Dumbledore. “He must get by using his own methods and not relying on another person to help him.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harry, frowning. “That entire statement contradicts itself. Even if he asks another professor, he isn’t really relying on himself to learn and study the material. I can assure you, headmaster, I am handing him the theory to learn as well as all source material as we go along. What’s the point in attending school if he’s not learning because a few professors are bias and not giving him the best education? Let’s not forget that the Hufflepuff and Slytherin first and second-year study group was closed down. It’s rather obvious that someone, not naming any names, wishes for Slytherin to remain the most hated house in Hogwarts.”

“You misunderstand, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore. “The small study club that you made between Slytherin and Hufflepuff was stopped due to the large amount of concerns and complaints the professors received regarding it. A fair few said that the group wasn’t functioning correctly and that it was primarily a cheating group and not a study group.”

“A cheating group? How quaint.”

Dumbledore opened the drawer on his desk and pulled out a bundle of parchments, all varying in size, colour and quality. “I would like to see all houses united and acting together as it used to be, but there’s not much I can do about it if one house seeks to play unfairly.”

“I can already assume that the first people to complain were among the Gryffindor house,” said Harry, sneering. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all if it was Weasley. Longbottom’s best friend starting a campaign against the Slytherin house… I’m sure the entire Gryffindor house would follow suit.”

“Hey!”

Harry ignored Longbottom. “The Ravenclaws wouldn’t complain about it, instead they would simply try and win the Hufflepuffs back with their supposed wisdom and superior intelligence,” he said, pondering it. “There’s not a single study group that contains any Slytherins in it.”

“That’s not all, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, picking up a particular piece of parchment that was an uncommon shade of scarlet with a gold font. “There are a few students that claim that you bribed or coerced a few Hufflepuff students into joining your study group and that they feared for their wellbeing.”

“That’s just ridiculous…”

“You must understand, Mr. Potter, I didn’t demand for the study club to be closed because I don’t want Slytherin students in a study club – I want just that – but if you cannot play fair then actions must be taken to prevent them from escalating.”

“That has to be a joke, an unfunny one, but a joke nonetheless, and one I assume was started by a Gryffindor – Ronald Weasley or Seamus Finnigan, perhaps?” said Harry, feigning disinterest, especially with the mentions of the two Gryffindors. “Everyone knows how the study group started, and I’m hardly even exaggerating the situation. I spoke with Cedric Diggory in the library last year, it was a quick encounter that gave me all I needed and it got me a foot in the door. I then proceeded to help Susan Bones with some of her spell work and _asked_ her politely to ask the other first-year Hufflepuffs if they needed any help with their work and if they would appreciate joining a Slytherin and Hufflepuff study group.”

“Not all of the complaints are from the Gryffindor house, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore as he slowly turned towards Neville. “Thank you, Neville, for telling me what you needed and –”

Neville yelled in shock, interrupting the headmaster as he pushed back on the chair he was sitting on, his eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. He watched as the phoenix began to catch fire, it sat there happily, it looked highly ill just moments ago, and a few feathers fell out of its tail. Fawkes gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.

“ **The filthy bird is dead**!” hissed Nagini, slipping her head from Harry’s sleeve. “ **Thank you to whoever heard my silent prayers and pleasing**.”

Harry felt a small amount if pain for Nagini, who would learn what Fawkes was the hard way and that her rambling about the creature was for naught.

“ **The singing makes me agitated to be it classes snakes as evil and dark** ,” hissed Nagini, displeased. “ **Self-centred, filthy, uneducated beast**.”

Harry was somewhat thankful that it wasn’t singing as Tom’s words popped straight back into his head about how he and the things would react.

Dumbledore smiled and watched as the ash on the ground carefully.

“ **Your companion dies and you smile**?” hissed Nagini. “ **What an odd human**.”

Well, it’s about time,” said Dumbledore, still watching the ashes. “He’s been looking dreadful for days… I’ve been telling him to get a move on.”

“Err,” muttered Neville, looking confused. “You mean you wanted him to die?”

“Of course!” said Dumbledore excitedly. “Fawkes is a phoenix –”

“ **It was a phoenix, old man, it was, not is! It’s dead! It is no more** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **How this man was made a headmaster is beyond me**!”

“Phoenixes burst into flame when it’s time for them to die and then they’re reborn from the ashes,” said Dumbledore, gesturing towards the moving ashes. “Watch him…”

“ **Immortal**?” hissed out Nagini, along with a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “ **The beast may live forever, but it’s hardly even close to being as smart, witty, cunning and perfect as me. I have no faults… none at all! That screeching beast is full of faults**.”

“It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day,” said Dumbledore, moving back towards his desk and sitting back down, beamingly happily at the two boys. “He’s really very handsome most of the time: wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly faithful pets.”

“I hate to break it to you, headmaster, but red and gold isn’t _handsome_ , it’s not even close, it’s ghastly.”

Dumbledore turned to Neville, smiling. “I must ask you, Neville, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me? Anything at all?”

“Nothing professor, nothing at all.”

Harry took the few tense moments of silence that had popped up and decided that he would look at the newly reborn phoenix, which Nagini was still muttering about softly. He couldn’t argue with Nagini that she looked two hundred percent better than the newborn phoenix, especially with its red and gold plumage that would make his eyes bleed whenever he saw it. He absent-mindedly stroked Nagini’s head through the fabric of his robe and went through different scenarios in his mind, the first one was of course getting the study group between Slytherin and Hufflepuff back together.

Neville still had a half-smile on his face when he saw Harry stand, he went to copy the action but a slight headshake from Dumbledore told him to remain seated. He watched as Harry, being as polite as he is, gave a quick nod and began to exit the Headmaster’s office. During all that, he couldn’t help but think on why he was being asked to remain behind.

He soon learned the reasoning on why he was asked to remain behind and it felt almost trivial when he thought back to it as he stepped down the spiral staircase. The headmaster just wanted to discuss the double attack on Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick and stated that he believed that it wasn’t him that was doing it.

The moment he stepped into the corridor he was bombarded by two troublesome twins.

“Look here George, ickle Neville is here!” said Fred as he clamped an arm around Neville’s shoulder. “We were just talking about you, in the Gryffindor common room.”

“Indeed, well not us, but everyone else was,” continued George as he copied Fred’s action. “Fred and I, we had a great laugh about it and decided that we’d help you get around unbothered! That’s how good of friends we are.”

Fred forced Neville to begin walking forwards. “Oh look, there’s Potter!” he released Neville and hurried towards Harry. “I think you’re the shortest second-year I have ever seen, you’re almost half a head shorter than Neville.”

“I see that your outstanding observation skills are still intact and haven’t suffered at all over the years,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “Surely all the poets and storytellers will be flocking to you for your amazing, in-depth detailing of how obvious things are.”

“That’s nice of you, Potter.”

“Surely so, Fred,” said George from the distance.

Harry flicked Fred’s arm off his shoulder and glared. “You two are nothing short of being obstreperous.”

“Obste – wait, what?” said Fred, rubbing his fingers over his hairless chin. “You sound like Snape, you know – you even have his trademark sneer down!”

“What do you two want? I am busy.”

“What do we want, Fred?” said Fred, smirking.

“I’m not sure, George.”

“I know you’re Fred and he’s George,” said Harry. “You’re not even close to being smart about it. Your eye twitches whenever you swallow midsentence and George tends to curl his lips slightly when he’s about to be caught out in a lie or one of your stupid games. Now, what. Do. You. Want?”

“Hmm,” said Fred, dragging on the word. “What do I, Fred Weasley, want? Oh, nothing, littlest Potter, we want absolutely nothing.”

“Great,” said Harry, pleased, “shove off then.”

“I have an idea…”

“Oh, joy!”

“Perhaps, we simply want to walk you to the dungeons,” said George, lifting his arm from Neville. “I think that would be good off us – very gentleman-ish of us, if you ask me.”

“I don’t need a baby sitter, Weasley,” said Harry, spitting the name. “And no one asked you, so remain quiet.”

“Babysit? Ha-ha, no, we simply wish to take you there, littlest Potter,” said Fred. “Look how small you are! The dungeons, they’re a dangerous place – huge, you could get lost – not to mention all those nasty bats and the leaky walls from being underwater.”

“What if the dungeons flooded?” added in George. “Can you swim?”

“What if the heir of Slytherin attacks?” said Fred, concern lacing his voice. “How could you, littlest Potter, defend against the big, bad, heir of Slytherin?”

“How did you two even know where I was?” asked Harry, confused on how they just so happened to find out where he was and plot with a way to annoy him. “No one even knew that I would be here, especially with everyone talking about Justin and that ghost being petrified.”

“We have our methods, littlest Potter,” said Fred, smirking. “We don’t just share our methods with anyone… only the most wise and well-respected – even if they may be in Slytherin.”

“This one doesn’t look too happy, Gred,” said George, peering towards his twin brother and the second-year Slytherin. “He sorta looks like Ron does when we get him with a very good and well-placed prank that makes him look like a right fool.”

“Can you not compare me to your idiotic brother? Thanks.”

“He has that sour look on his face, I think that we, Fred and George, Gred and Forge, are to blame for his sudden drop in mood.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” muttered Harry as he glanced at a faraway portrait, who looked to be swaying to silent music. “I just simply have better things to do than stand around and speak to you lot.”

Both Fred and George laughed loudly at that statement, they did each debate silently about continuing to torment the poor Slytherin, but decided that they would let him for with a few kind departing words, after all, life in the Snake Pit, as it’s called, is hard for most.

Neville was confused when the twins split for a moment, mainly after they had spotted Percy, their older brother. He didn’t say anything, instead he watched as George, at least he thought it was George called Percy over just out of sight and held him firm. He was about to join in the snickering with Fred until he realized something wasn’t right.

Fred took a deep breath and sent Neville a quick glance before letting out a very mischievous smirk. “Make way for the heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through,” he called out as loud as he could, it helped that the corridor was pretty silent and allowed his voice to echo and bounce from wall to wall.

Percy stormed straight past George and stopped straight in front of Fred, huffing. “It is not a laughing matter!”

“Get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred, attempting to nudge his brother out of the way. “Neville’s in a hurry!”

“Yeah, he’s nipping off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” sniped George, walking closer towards the little confrontation. “If you don’t move out of the way, you could be the next one he decides to attack,” he turned to Neville and gave a wry smirk. “So, Neville, who are you planning to petrify next? You can trust us!”

“DON’T!” screeched Ginny the moment that George said it, she began to rub furiously at her eyes, her eyes began to brim with tears as her twin brothers kept mentioning the Chamber of Secrets. “It’s not funny, stop making jokes about it!”

It didn’t take much longer for Neville to stumble across Ron and Hermione, shortly following the little joke that the twins did. He didn’t mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin’s heir was quite ludicrous. He turned and looked at Ron. “I wonder what has annoyed Malfoy so much,” he said and watched as the blond boy stormed past, his feet stomping harshly on the floor. “He’s been rather aggravated since the attacks, and only has gotten worse with each attack.”

“It’s because he’s bursting to say it’s really him,” said Ron knowingly, he didn’t even spare Malfoy a glance. “You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you’re getting all the credit for his dirty work.”

“Well, not for long,” said Hermione in a satisfied tone. “The Polyjuice Potion’s nearly ready. We’ll be getting the truth out of him any day now.” She lifted her head when she heard both Neville and Ron acknowledge her and lowered her voice, whispering, “I overheard Professor McGonagall talking about Potter earlier on today.”

Ron leaned forward in suspense. “Well, what did she say?”

“No need to get inpatient, Ronald…”

“Can you not call me that?’ said Ron, exasperated. “It’s my mum calls me, ‘Mione.”

“Oh, all right, _Ron_ ,” said Hermione, putting obvious emphasis on his name. “I heard Professor McGonagall talking about something odd, something called Legilimency and I quick went –”

“To the library,” said Ron and Neville.

“– and I learned that Legilimency is a form of mind magic that allows the caster to enter the mind of another person and see their thoughts and somewhat sense their emotions. It was vague,” said Hermione, looking upset that she found next to nothing on the subject. “I asked Professor McGonagall not even thirty minutes ago if it was a legal and allowed branch of magic and she stated that it wasn’t and then she explained that Harry Potter was given a rather strict set of guidelines on his gift.”

“And?”

“And?” repeated Hermione, staring at Ron. “She added so much emphasis on gift and her look sort of clouded over when she spoke about it. I don’t think that it’s a gift that he has.”

Neville frowned and shook his head at Ron, an action that Hermione thankfully missed as she was set on glaring at Ron. “A lot of people, mainly half-bloods and Muggle-born, assume that Legilimency isn’t worthy of having the title of being a gift,” he said, trying to explain it the best way that he could. “A century or so ago, the pure-blooded witches and wizards would be tripping over each other to get  Harry’s attention for being a natural Legilimens, but Dumbledore seemed to stop that and made the talent a little taboo.”

“There’s nothing on it in the books!”

“Because no Legilimens was ever foolish enough to write about it, Hermione,” said Ron. “The last thing we need is everyone knowing it and reading every thought from your mind.”

“The big issue is that no one knows how Legilimency works, Hermione,” said Neville. “D’you think Harry’ll come and tell us how he reads our minds and the exact depth of it? Some say they can only read surface thoughts and others seem to think that the mind has its own little universe inside it.”

Ron scoffed. “Why would you wanna learn it anyway? It’s a dark ability… something that You-Know-Who was well-known for.”

“I don’t want to learn it!” snapped Hermione. “I don’t want him in my thoughts!”

”What makes you think he wants to read your thoughts?” said Ron darkly. He shrugged when Hermione glared at him. “Sorry, ‘Mione.”

“Occlumency is the counter to Legilimency,” said Neville. “Something that Harry is also adept at, which is why people are concerned when they learn that a twelve year old has already mastered two gifts that are considered dark in nature.”

“Oh?” said Hermione, leaning forwards on the table.

“Do you know how Slytherins always refer to a mask?” said Neville, getting in before Ron.

Hermione nodded.

“They like to think that they’re doing Occlumency and concealing their expressions,” continued Neville, looking amused. “Harry’s the only Slytherin lower than fifth-year that can actually pull off slipping a blank mask in place because he knows Occlumency, no one else does.”

“That makes sense,” said Hermione. “It doesn’t explain why Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall allow him to remain at the school when he quite clearly possesses two dark talents.”

“Harry wouldn’t use them unless he had to,” said Neville. “I know that –”

“I knew it,” gasped Hermione, interrupting Neville. “He uses his dark gifts to pull the answers from things out of our heads! It explains everything!”

“What,” whispered Neville cautiously, “do you mean, Hermione?”

“That’s how he’s getting such good marks in classes! He’s using the knowledge that everyone else has learned and just applied it to fit his own work and he knows what the source material is, so if anyone calls him out for cheating he can just direct them there,” said Hermione, pushing on the one lead she had. “It also explains why he’s the first student in decades – centuries even according to a few professors – to receive an ‘Outstanding’ in every subject. He quite clearly cheated.”

“But Harry spends all his time in the library,” said Neville. “I know that he wouldn’t cheat like that.”

“Let’s not give him that much credit, ‘Mione,” said Ron. “Claiming he’s some sort of evil mastermind that was able to fool Dumbledore and any other professor is far too much credit, don’t you think?”

“I think he spends more time in the library than you, Hermione,” said Neville, thinking. “At least he was in there frequent enough to form a relationship with Madam Pince, the irate book lady. Not only that, but Harry was taught a lot of things by his mum, Professor Snape and the Malfoy family. A lot of the professors label him as a prodigy in multiple fields –”

Ron snorted, shaking his head. Of course, the action caused Neville to stop speaking and he did feel guilty for that, but he was just glad that they were no longer raving on about Potter’s achievements.

“I have heard a few professors call him a Potions prodigy, mainly due to the teaching of his mother, but surely that’s it, right?” said Hermione, looking rather concerned. “Honestly, it’s just not fair! How long has he had an advantage over me?”

Neville didn’t reply, instead, he chose to ponder the question for a moment, hoping to figure out the right thing to say. “Harry couldn’t talk until he was around six or seven, so he pushed all his free time into reading and facial expressions, that latter explaining why he can conceal them better than others, along with his Occlumency talent. He was always outside, a stick in hand and practicing wand movements.”

“Wait,” said Hermione, “he couldn’t talk until he was six?”

“Nope,” said Ron. “No one knows why he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t make any noise if I remember right, instead he just sat around and read books.”

Hermione looked confused. “Wow,” she said, unable to form any other sort of response to that small yet concerning piece of news. “That’s horrible.”

“According to my Gran and Dumbledore, the fact he couldn’t speak heightened his accidental magic and allowed him to control it,” said Neville. “If he wanted a book, it would go to him, no matter the distance in his house. Lily complained a fair amount of times at seeing various books floating through the air.”

“Mum spoke to Lily once,” said Ron, shifting his gaze to Neville. “Mum was somewhat amazed that Harry could summon books at the age of four. It was just books, though, nothing else.”

“So it was accidental magic?” questioned Hermione, not really understanding. “I didn’t think that you could do things like that until you trained your magic.”

“Normally you cannot, hence why it’s called accidental magic and not just magic,” said Neville. “Most magic you do before coming to Hogwarts is called accidental magic as you have no control over it. Some people still do it into their late twenties when upset or angry. Gran made a cabinet explode when she read an article from Rita Skeeter.”

“What Potter does is called wish magic, at least by young witches and wizards,” said Ron, trying not to laugh at the image of Neville’s gran exploding a cabinet. “If Potter really, really wanted a book, he could wish for it and his magic would give in and give him the book that he wanted. It has limits, as you can tell, and you can only wish for something that you desperately need or want.”

“And why haven’t I seen this mentioned anywhere in the library?”

“Uh…”

“And how do I know that you’re not making this up?”

“It’s not actually called wish magic, Hermione,” cut in Neville before Hermione started on a tirade about it. “That’s just another term for controlled accidental magic, something that Harry was good at, simply because his magic was protecting him due to the fact he couldn’t ask for things verbally.”

“As for why you haven’t read about it?” said Ron, giving her a sheepish look. “It’s kinda passed down pure-blood lines as a tale and all that kind of stuff. My family never bothered with those traditions the other families tend to follow as if they’ll die if they don’t. Mum did tell us a few tales now and then, but that was about it.”

Hermione huffed, wanting to learn all about this wish magic and not being able to due to it being a pure-blood thing. “Well, if what you two say about Slytherins is anything to go by, then I’ll just assume that Potter is cheating.”

Neville speared his hand through his hair as an unsure gesture, his facial expression conveyed just how confused and unsure he really was. “Not all Slytherins are bad, just like not all Gryffindors are brave –” he paused and looked at Ron, who let out a strangled sound. “What?”

“Not all Slytherins are bad,” repeated Ron.

“They’re not,” said Neville. “Y’know that Lily was considered for Slytherin for a while… Gryffindor won out when her bravery outwitted her cunning. She was almost there and she’s as good as you can get! Another is Snape…”

“ _Snape_!” gasped Ron.

“He’s not bad in the term that you’re implying, Ron, just a bad teacher.”

“You shouldn’t talk about professors like that,” sniffed Hermione. “You could lose us more points! He seems to target you every lesson, Neville and you, Ron, make snide remarks and always get yourself in some sort of trouble.”

“Are you alright, Hermione?” asked Neville softly. He applauded the girl on being sad yet still being bossy enough to pull both he and Ron back in line when they were clearly getting distracted in their bickering. “Surely this whole ordeal can’t have made you that sad and distraught?”

“It’s just that I haven’t ever been beaten in grades before,” sniffed Hermione, standing up straight. “I told my parents that a boy in my year got perfect marks plus more on in every subject and they smiled proudly for _him_ and not _me_! My summer was horrid as they kept edging around the conversation and then claimed that they were proud of me, no matter what, and that whatever this boy got wasn’t their concern and that it shouldn’t be mine.”

“I don’t see the issue,” said Ron. “You came in second in the year, despite what Malfoy and that lot seem to say.”

“He called me a Mudblood, Rona – Ron!” said Hermione, correcting his name at the last moment. “He thinks he’s better than me! He got better grades and then proceeds to call me name sand belittle me. I was never able to summon books when I was young! My accidental magic wasn’t even strong enough to do something like that.”

Neville attempted to soothe her, but failed miserably, something about people sniffling or crying made him useless. He turned to Ron, who just shrugged, and frowned. “Come on Hermione, let’s check on you-know-what.”

* * *

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_I’m pleased that you took the initiative to write to me and my wife, it’s been rather lonely around these parts as of recent. As I’m sure you’re aware, not many seek to write to either my wife or me during the days and we spend a lot of time alone or together, out in the garden. While you know what my house looks like, I cannot tell you where I live, but I can safely say that the weather is much better than the dreary weather that you get in Britain._

_You have a way with words, Harry, when you actually try. My wife was amused and stated that she was certain that you wrote the letter with a dictionary by your side and intentionally used big words that had multiple archaic forms just to confuse us. I must confess that we’re getting old and all the words are changing from what they used to be. I remember when you would say that you had a gay old time and everyone would smile and understand, now, however, the youth just stare at you, confused._

_As for the Chamber of Secrets, I cannot say that neither I nor my wife have seen it or heard about it besides the odd rumour or two fifty or so years ago, the precise date has been long forgotten but they did say that a student was killed before the supposed Chamber of Secrets was once again closed. The culprit was apparently sent to Azkaban without a trial and had his or her wand snapped._

_I do know that none of Salazar Slytherin’s heirs have attended Hogwarts in many centuries. The Gaunt line avoided schooling like it would corrupt them and after the intense inbreeding they started to display less and less magic over the generations._

_I personally believe that it’s a joke gone way too far and the person is trying to repeat what happened last time. Did you know that a few months ago a group of students at Durmstrang were caught wearing Grindelwald’s mark on their robes and were expelled? Foolish youth. One was killed ion crossfire as well and his family didn’t even care!_

_Your next question can be answered so simply that it’d be almost a waste of ink to write it and keep you in the dark! But I’m not like that and you’ve bought joy to an old man’s heart._

_The answer is yes._

_It’s taking time but I’m sure my wife will manage! She’s currently sifting through various potion books to try and find out what she needs, but it should work sometime soon._

_As soon as it’s done, it’ll be sent along in the way that you had asked._

_Kind regards,_

_Nick and Pere._

Harry put the letter in his trunk and dismissed the owl with a smile, stating that he would reply using his own owl, Hedwig. The owl gave him a disapproving hoot and turned and flew out the little window that had a shoot from the grassy area on the grounds. He did wonder what would happen if the water increased and hit the shoot, would it flood the dungeons like he thought or does the shoot have an Impervious Charm over it that stops the water from getting close to it?

He didn’t expect to have a phial of Elixir of Life overnight or even a few weeks after the meeting that he had with the Master Alchemist, nor did he think that it would take this long but he couldn’t exactly say that. He knew that Nicholas struggled with potions and anything regarding them and that it was his wife that figured out everything to do with potions and simply stated that if she shared them around the world, they wouldn’t be as recognised as a male.

Nicholas disagreed instantly and stated that it was her work and that she should do it. Perenelle instantly said that it was her work and that she wanted him to publish it.

Harry couldn’t help but snort as the memory of their argument shifted back into his mind. After all the time alive the two were still so deeply in love that they could have tiffs like that then simply have a cup of tea and forget it. Six hundred years with the same person would do that.

He walked over towards his bed, muttering about the half-made beds that occupied their dormitory. He learned that the house-elves didn’t touch any personal belongings unless the clothes were added to the laundry hamper. Crabbe and Goyle, the two brutes, were constantly tripping over their own dirty clothes and tugging at the messily made beds that they slept on. He scrunched up his nose, smelling something foul coming from that side of the room. He couldn’t describe the smell besides it being foul, especially when he drew near it.

Vowing to never go over there again, he slumped onto his bed with a sigh. He missed the sofa that was in the first-year dormitory, the warm, comforting sofa that allowed him to read in peace during the afternoons. Despite it being the Christmas holidays and the fact that almost no Slytherins remained behind besides him, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, some fifth year that heard that his brother was home and he wanted to avoid that, the sixth-year girl prefect, who hated her family and some poor first-year that got a rather blunt letter stating that he wasn’t welcome home because he got into Slytherin.

He only just opened the book and of course fate, the cruel mistress, wouldn’t allow him a moment of solitude and allow him to read more than four words before he realised someone was sitting on the edge of his bed, their weight causing the bed to drop slightly. ‘Better not be Crabbe or Goyle,’ he thought, closing the book slowly. ‘I’ll burn these sheets if it is.’

“Harry!”

“Oh, hello, Draco,” said Harry, smiling at his friend. “I didn’t even see you enter.”

“Of course you didn’t,” replied Draco, somewhat haughtily. “You just left the Great Hall without saying a word and then vanished in the middle of nowhere!”

Harry looked at Draco questionably, wondering what caused his normally calm friend to burst out in a concerned tone. He had never before been forced to say farewell, especially to Draco who knew his routine by heart by now. If he could get away with reading in this very room, he wouldn’t even go to the Great Hall to eat.

“Not even a bye or see you later, Draco!” ranted Draco. “You. Just. Left.”

“I did say bye,” said Harry, defending himself. “I also said that I was going to the Slytherin common room to read and that I would see you when you finished eating.”

“You said a string of twenty words and no one, I repeat, no one heard you mutter any of them?”

“All going deaf –”

“I know when you’re lying to me, Harry,” said Draco, his grey eyes narrowed. “You do know that you get this tiny glint in your eyes and your cheek shifts slightly when you lie? I learned that many years ago after constant observations and constant watching after your dramatics and all the little games you played.”

“I do not.”

“You do!”

“Do not!”

“You do!”

“There’s no way that you could have seen that from across the Great Hall,” said Harry. “With the lights and all the people? If anyone’s lying, it’s you.”

Draco stared for a moment before regaining his composure. “Just because _you_ have terrible eyesight doesn’t mean the rest of us do! I have perfect vision, thank you very much, unlike you, who only just bypasses the need for glasses. You’re so close to being a four-eyes, Harry… so very close.”

“How does having glasses make you have four eyes?” asked Harry, confused. “It just enhances your vision and slowly corrects it.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does.”

“Speccy git.”

“I don’t even have glasses…”

“You will soon and then you’ll be a four-eyed speccy git.”

Harry burst into laughter, his laughing intensified when he realised that Draco was serious and that his chin was lifted like he had been successful in his tormenting. A part of him, a small part, wanted to lash out at Draco for daring to insult him, but the more mature part, the one he listened to the most, warned him that he would be wise to ignore it.

‘ _Call him a Barbie_ ,’ said Tom, his tone slightly pushy. ‘ _Do it_!’

Harry preferred it when Tom was silent.

“– what if you were petrified?”

Harry glanced up and sent Draco an odd look. “I’m not Muggle-born, Draco, I wouldn’t be petrified,” he said, smiling at Draco. “Thank you for your concern, though. I’m glad that you care about me.”

“Of course I care about you, you prat!” said Draco, glaring. “If you got petrified I have no idea what I would do! No doubt something stupid like trying to brew the potion to bring you back as soon as possible. I dislike you being in danger, you know that.”

“Me? In danger?” laughed Harry, wondering if he would ever be in danger. “I’m not a Gryffindor, Draco, I’ll never chase after the bad guys and put my life in any sort of danger like a fool. I’d watch as the heroes fought the villains and I simply coasted by, using what they lost to my own advantage… I am in Slytherin, Draco.”

“You and a few others may believe that, but I don’t. You’re not as Slytherin as you think and hope you are, Harry,” said Draco. “You make so many rash decisions that could be questioned in more ways than one. You have small facts and then act on them, you hardly ever think through a plan, and we figured that one out when you were nine.”

“Fine,” said Harry, “I make a few questionable choices and then all of a sudden I’m rash? Pfft. All my plans have worked out in the end.”

“What about the potions incident, Harry? I have it on good knowledge that you nearly killed us on that day,” said Draco, crossing his arms. “My life flashed before my eyes.”

“Of course I remember that,” said Harry, smiling. “That worked out better than I thought it would.”

“ _Better_?”

“I altered my very own potion and it worked! It was a massive jump for my skill at potions, even if it destroyed the room.”

“Plus countless expensive ingredients and three gold cauldrons, one platinum and –”

“Even you admitted that it worked better than you assumed it would,” interrupted Harry. “It worked out for the best.”

“If nearly killing us is for the best than I don’t want to know what your worst is.”

“Failure.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I still remember that day like it happened yesterday, Harry, so clear and vivid in my mind,” he said dramatically. “If it wasn’t for the fact that the room we were in was heavily warded and makes Hogwarts look like a common house then you and I would be splattered across the walls, along with the destroyed ingredients and potion.”

“I trusted in the wards that the previous Malfoy family members had added, as well as the small touch-ups that Professor Snape and your father did,” said Harry, shrugging it off with ease. “It worked every time that it was tested and seemed to know when danger was coming before any of us did.”

“That’s because it reacted on heartrate,” said Draco. “You knew that something was going to go wrong and your heartrate sped up and it pulled us out due to the fact that you knew that it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Alright,” said Harry, shrugging. “I’m not going to argue with you about it, at all, but just know that there was a seventy-four percent chance that we would make it out alive. Those are good odds, Draco. Seventy is a strong and high number.”

“Seriously?”

“Even if it failed, which it wouldn’t, we could have been ghosts together, haunting Longbottom.”

“I don’t care what the percentage of our survival was!” snapped Draco, his eyes narrowed and his lips pushing together tightly in the silence. “You’re far too impulsive and it’s coming off as a bad thing, especially when you walk around alone when there’s something out there attacking students!”

“I am not impulsive.”

“Yes you are!” said Draco. “The heir of Slytherin may only seek to attack Muggle-born students but your mother is one and it may not know the difference! If it was ordered to petrify you then it may not hesitate! The monster may attack you –”

“As I have said before, Draco, there’s no monster in the Chamber of Secrets. It has to be something else, a joke or a prank or even something Peeves has cooked up to startle everyone. He’s always there,” said Harry, pondering it. “While no pure-blood or Slytherin students have been petrified a ghost and a cat have, who cannot be _enemies_ to the heir.”

“I said it before, there’s no monster in the Chamber of Secrets. It has to be something else.” Harry interrupted smoothly. “While not pure-blood or Slytherins have been petrified, a ghost and a cat have, so it’s not flawless and it could fail, which is something that Salazar wouldn’t allow, even in accident.”

“But…”

“Salazar would settle for nothing short of perfection,” said Harry. “This method isn’t perfect as there’s no way to determine a student’s blood status.”

“But – I know – whatever,” said Draco, groaning. “Let’s just go and look for Crabbe and Goyle, I sort of left them in the Great Hall and they should be back before now.”

“The heir of Slytherin may have got them.”

“That is not funny!”

“I’m not laughing,” said Harry, not laughing. “Must we associate with them? Crabbe and Goyle, I mean, they’re hopeless – a discredit to the Slytherin house in every single possible way.”

“So is your Gryffindor rashness.”

“I resent that,” said Harry, sending the side of Draco’s head a glare as the two of them walked through the empty common room. “The day that either Crabbe or Goyle manage to string a coherent sentence together, one that uses even a smidgen of their total intelligence, is the day that I, Harry Potter, will proclaim my undying, eternal, sacred, lifelong love for Draco Malfoy.:

“Shut up, you git.”

“Do you want to read the entries I wrote in my diary?” pushed Harry, knowing that Draco would want to. “They’re all about you, did you know? Most of them are all about you, Draco, in case you didn’t know, all about how I dream of you all night and daydream about you in classes –”

“Shut up, you prat,” sneered Draco as the two of them walked down the dungeons corridor. “That’s not funny at all.”

Harry snorted and kept his expression clear, hoping that it would unnerve Draco more and more as time went on. If there was one thing about Draco that he would always torment, it was his burning desire to know when something was said or written about him. “It was so funny, Draco,” he said. “However, you’ll never know what little love poems I write about you as my diary is secret.”

Draco muttered under his breath and shoved Harry into another direction, leading him on the path that Crabbe and Goyle usually take. He had no idea why his father told him that they would be his bodyguards and that if dared to put a hand on him to snap his fingers and let them wail and beat on the person who dared touch a Malfoy.

“Where in Salazar’s name are those two lumbering goons?” moaned Harry, his hand twitching. “I could be reading instead of walking around in these dusty corridors looking for incompetent and useless people.”

Draco rolled his eyes and directed Harry down another corridor.

“Got any crushes on anyone yet?’ asked Harry, not hint of teasing in his voice. “You know I won’t tease you, Draco. You know, I could use Legilimency on people and see if they have a crush on you.”

“No,” said Draco tersely, “I don’t have a _crush_ on anyone, Harry, they’re beneath me.”

“Beneath you?” laughed Harry. “Oh dear…”

“It’s not called a crush anyway, how peasant.”

“Well now, that, Draco, is a new word that I haven’t heard you say before,” said Harry, snickering. “How peasant.”

“Shut up.”

“Everyone has crushes, Draco, believe it or not,” said Harry, smirking. “In some case it’s called an attraction or in love or even something simple like a future wife.”

Draco gave no verbal reply, instead he fastened his pace and hurried down the corridor, hearing voices somewhere along this way. “I hope that’s them,” he muttered to Harry, who was complaining. “If it isn’t I swear I’ll just leave them to fend for themselves.”

“Look – Crabbe!” said Harry, looking at the direction of the said lumbering boy who seemed more slouched than usual. “And Goyle isn’t too far away – yeah, there he is.”

“Great observation skills,” said Draco, snorting. “Not that either of them are hard to miss – Crabbe, Goyle! There you two are!”

Crabbe grunted.

“Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time?” asked Draco, sneering are the two of them. “I have something to show both of you, something that’ll make you laugh.”

Harry sent Draco a curious look. He wondered what was so funny that Draco had to show the two lumbering goons something hysterical.

“And what’re you doing down here, Weasley?”

Percy, who looked agitated at being spoken to by Crabbe, went from that agitated to a particular shade of red from seeing and having to speak to Malfoy, of all people. “I happen to be a prefect, Malfoy,” he said, tapping the gleaming badge. “You should show me a bit more respect than that! I don’t like your attitude.”

“Lurking around in the dungeons, are you, Weasley?” said Harry, sneering. “You know, Weasley, someone may think you’re up to something, lurking around in the dungeons all by yourself.”

Percy’s red face went even redder.

“Speaking of which,” continued Harry, his sneer turning into a very triumphant looking smirk. “Your family has been doing some rather questionable things as of late. Doesn’t help that your sister looks absolutely dreadful, as if she’s contracted something. Maybe she should go home, unable to stomach all the attacks she’s doing.”

Percy’s frame slightly shook with rage at the sheer accusation of his sister attacking and petrifying all those people, cat and ghost included. He knew that Ginny would never hurt another person. “Watch your tone, Potter,” he barked, looking far less annoyed than he even was. “Just because your father is the Head Auror, it doesn’t that you can walk around and act as if you own the place.”

“If I owned the place, you wouldn’t be in it.”

Percy scowled and swept from the dungeon as if he had been burned from the words. The laughter from Malfoy and Potter followed his exit. He muttered under his breath about Slytherins and their blatant attitude issues.

Draco watched Percy Weasley flee the dungeons and he turned his sneer from the retreating back of said boy to Crabbe and Goyle, gesturing for them to follow him towards the Slytherin common room. “You know, that Peter Weasley is something else,” he said, ignoring Crabbe and whatever he was mumbling about. “I’ve noticed him sneaking around a lot recently, mainly around the dungeons. I have a feeling I know what he’s up to. He thinks, funnily enough, that he’s going to catch Slytherin’s heir single-handed and save the school or something as stupid as that.”

Goyle grunted in his usual manner and stopped at the stretch of the wall, waiting for the password to be said so they can enter through the damp wall that was the barrier stopping access from other houses.

Draco turned to Harry, shrugging. “I don’t know the password, it was changed this morning and the prefect didn’t seem fit to tell me while I was out in the Great Hall.”

“Why they change it during Hallowe’en is beyond me,” said Harry, looking at the stretch of wall. “I don’t think you two know what it is either.”

Crabbe and Goyle grunted in response, the latter’s sounding more forced than usual.

“Pathetic,” hissed Harry in agitation. His eyes turned to the engraving of the snake that was looking at him curiously. “Wasn’t it changed by that fifth-year prefect as a joke?”

“I think so,” replied Draco, staring at the entrance to the Slytherin common room. “It didn’t hear what was said before when I came in as I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Right the one who is obsessed with having pure-blood and harasses everyone with it,” said Harry. “So it wouldn’t surprise me if the password was something to do with pure-blood.”

“He’s going to get in so much trouble when Professor Snape learns what he’s done,” said Draco, smirking. “He’ll probably lose his prefect position.”

“Pure-blood,” said Harry, wondering if that was the password to the common room, it did make sense. “There we go.”

The group of four walked through it and spread out in the common room. Crabbe and Goyle followed like puppies and sat down wherever they were directed.

“Williams,” said Harry, looking towards the first-year, who jumped slightly when spoken to. “Want to join us? I know that these two are hardly any decent at conversation, so it’ll just be me, you and Draco.”

The boy shook his head and quickly stood, fleeing the room as if his biggest fear was standing there alongside his second and third biggest fears.

“You’d never know that he was the only son to a rather light family,” said Harry, more to himself. “He apparently disgraced his family name because he landed in Slytherin and then they refused to allow him to go home for the holidays, something about not wanting their dark child to ruin a light and joyous event.”

Crabbe grunted.

“I have no idea why I even bother to try and speak to either of you two,” said Harry, sneering at them. He debated the pros and cons of just hexing the both of them, not that it would solve anything, seeing as the two were as dumb as logs and wouldn’t even know that they had been hexed. “Your only ambition is to follow in another person’s and even then you do it badly. It’s more pathetic than Weasley’s disgrace of a family.”

Draco entered the tense room with a wave of a folded piece of parchment, which revealed to be a small clipping from the Daily Prophet when looked at closely, due to the writing on the back of it. “Father sent me it this morning,” he said, waving the piece of paper around. “He said a fair amount of times that it would be delightful and –”

“Funny,” cut in Harry, “even to you dimwits.”

“Right,” said Draco.

“Did either of you bring me or Draco anything from the Great Hall?” said Harry, sending the two lumbering goons a knowing look. “That’s the reason that we allowed you to go there in the first place! Do you think that we can just allow you to walk around without someone with an IQ of more than double digits? Honestly!”

“We, err, forget,” muttered Crabbe, looking distressed.

“What kind of minions forgets something so simple and easy to understand?’ asked Harry, narrowing his eyes. “Even for you two, that’s stupid.”

Draco waved the newspaper clipping in front of them, stopping any sort of argument between Harry and Crabbe and Goyle before it could start. “Read it.”

**_ ENQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC _ **

_Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car. However, he was additionally fined twenty Galleons per Muggle that had to be Obliviated as well as seventy Galleons for putting the wizarding world at risk.  
A combined total of two hundred and sixty Galleons._

_Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley’s resignation._

_“Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute,” Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. “He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately.”_

_Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she’d set the family ghoul on them._

“Two hundred and sixty Galleons?” whistled Harry, looking amused at the total amount that the Weasleys had been fined. He had a gut feeling that a lot of the charges were added to that by Lucius. “The worst thing with the Weasleys is that they refuse to accept help as if they’re the best family in existence. You know, mother offered them a small loan of Galleons so that Weasley, Ron, could have a full set of new robes and the likes – they refused it.”

“Why?” asked Draco, confused. “Why refuse help when it’s offered? That’s just stuck-up.”

“Says you, Draco,” laughed Harry, shaking his head. “I have no idea why they don’t ever accept help, but it’ll be their own downfall in due time.”

Draco waited for Crabbe and Goyle to hand the paper back and he waited and waited and finally snapped when they gave no reaction to the piece of news. “Well?” he asked when they still didn’t laugh or even grunt about the Weasleys losing money. “Don’t you think it’s funny?”

Goyle let out a laugh, which sounded forced. Thankfully no one questioned the delayed laugh nor the fake sounding laugh.

“I’m curious on how they’re going to pay that fine,” mused Harry. “I heard mother once complaining that Molly could hardly afford to pay the bills let alone send seven children to Hogwarts, despite attendance being free because of taxes and all that. It says a lot considering most, if not all, pure-bloods own the land that they live on and don’t need to pay anything like land rates or such.”

“What are land rates?” asked Draco.

“You pay for the land that you live on, kind of like rent.”

Draco let out a disgusted sound.

“I’m amazed that Lucius hasn’t told you all about this yet,” stated Harry. “To be fair, I read it all in a book that was made for adults, so it could be something you’ll learn much later.”

Draco sniffed and focused back on the previous discussion, seeing as Crabbe and Goyle looked more confused than usual. “Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them. You’d never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave.”

Crabbe’s face was contorted with fury. A nudge from Goyle got him to fix it before Malfoy could notice.

“What’s up with you Crabbe?” asked Harry from the side as he picked up a book and placed it neatly on his lip, which got him a sigh from Draco. “Normally you’d at least grunt at that because it’s the only response that your pitiful excuse for a brain provide to a simple question or statement. This entire conversation has been rather one-sided and your intelligence, or lack of, is starting to grate on my nerves. Your stupidity is incorrigible. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were still studying here while the next generation of students attended.”

“Harry,” said Draco, exasperated, “you’ll offend them if you keep using words that are larger than three syllables.”

“I think I’m on a streak of offending people with things they know nothing about,” said Harry. “First Granger and now Crabbe and Goyle, I wonder who’s next.”

“Probably Weasley.”

“Most likely,” said Harry, turning back to Crabbe. “Are you silent because of your crush on Ginny Weasley? Honestly, Crabbe, I know you’re pathetic, but that’s far too low, even for you.”

Crabbe made a grunting noise and gestured at his stomach. “Jus’ have a stomach ache.”

“Well,” drawled Harry, “go up to the hospital wing and get it sorted out, don’t just complain about it.”

“You know, speaking of the hospital wing, there’s a lot of petrified people in there. You know, I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all these attacks yet. I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place –”

“You’re wrong!” snapped Goyle and then gave a sheepish look, ignoring the slight nudge from Crabbe.

“What, you think there’s someone here who is worse than Dumbledore?” said Draco, narrowing his eyes at Goyle. “Well, do you?”

Goyle paused for a moment and then looked between Potter and Malfoy. “Neville Longbottom?”

Draco made a noise of agreement and lent back slightly. “Good one, Goyle, you’re absolutely right. Saint Longbottom,” he sneered. “And people think he’s Slytherin’s heir!”

Goyle shared a very similar look with Crabbe, he turned and looked at Malfoy. “You must have some idea who’s behind it all.”

“You know I haven’t, Goyle, I told you yesterday, how many times do I have to tell you?” snapped Draco, he started to dig around on the table before throwing the newspaper clipping down on it. “And father won’t tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened, either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing: last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Muggle-born died. So I bet it’s only a matter of time before one of them is killed this time –”

“I hope that it’s Granger,” said Harry, cutting in. “She’s far too much of a know-it-all to contribute to our society and it wouldn’t surprise me if she exposed our world. Now I see why Weasley and Longbottom were quick to befriend each other – they sought to expose our world!”

“D’you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?” said Goyle quickly before Crabbe could react and punch Potter in the face, which it looked like he was planning to do.

“Oh, yeah… whoever it was, was expelled, they’re probably still in Azkaban,” said Draco shaking a green and silver box, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle and shrugged. “Is this yours?” when they both shook their heads he pocketed it. “Father says to keep my head down and let the heir of Slytherin get on with it. Of course, he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our Manor last week?”

“That green and silver box belongs to Gemma, so I’d put it back. She’ll hex your bits off.”

Draco quickly pulled the box from his robes and placed it where he found it. “Luckily, they didn’t find much. Father’s got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff,” he watched as both Crabbe and Goyle jumped to their feet. “What is wrong with you two? You’re both acting… odd.”

“Medicine for my stomach,” grunted Crabbe, and without waiting for a reply, he and Goyle sped from the room.

Harry watched the two goons fly out of the room, stumbling on a stone pillar along the way. He placed the book that he was reading down on the table and let out a sigh. “I have a rather strong feeling that they weren’t Crabbe and Goyle,” he said. “Their stupidity is the same, but they were just an inch smarter than their counterparts.”

“And you didn’t say this before I said about my father!” whispered Draco, looking distressed. “What’ll I tell father?”

“Just say that someone assumed he had more illegal stuff because of his political sway and that Weasley venged that your father would pay for getting his already poor family into more debt.”

“Alright,” said Draco standing. “Where are you going to go?”

“I’m going to trail the people who broke into our common room under Polyjuice Potion and figure out what their goal was,” said Harry, retrieving his cloak. “Go and write to Lucius before it’s too late and he gets in trouble for having Dark Arts artefacts.”

“Good luck, Harry.”


	22. An Interrogation

Chapter 22 – **An Interrogation**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 26/June/2016_

\--

“Well,” panted Ron, leaning against the cubicle next to the one that Hermione was currently in. He watched as Neville, who was draped in Slytherin robes about four sizes too big, closed the door leading into Myrtle’s bathroom. “I know that we haven’t yet figured out who is doing the attacks, but at least we’re closer.”

“Not really,” muttered Neville. “Still at the same spot we were before we wasted so much time on planning and brewing this potion.”

Ron rolled his eyes and banged on the cubicle that Hermione was in. “Come out, ‘Mione, we’ve got _loads_ to tell you.”

“Go away!”

Neville sent Ron a curious look towards Ron, who was staring at the cubicle door with his mouth slightly open. “Hermione,” he started softly, “what’s wrong?”

“Yeah, ‘Mione, what’s wrong?’ parroted Ron, not even looking slightly distressed. “Surely you’ve changed back and you no longer look like that brute Bulstrode – what?”

“You idiot!” said Neville, shaking his head. He said no more, especially when he heard something and spun around, looking towards the door, which was currently slightly open. “Who’s there?”

“No one is there, Neville,” said Ron, spinning around. “You must’ve left the door open.”

“I closed it,” said Neville, determined. “I know I that I –”

Moaning Myrtle glided by Neville, causing him to stop speaking and stopped directly in front of Ron. “Just you wait until you see her,” she said, an expression of the utmost happiness on her face, as if she was granted her deepest, darkest desires. “It’s awful!”

Neville had no idea why Myrtle was so happy that Hermione was left in such an awful state. “Hermione…”

The lock on the cubicle door slid open and Hermione slowly exited, the Slytherin robes covering her head completely.

“What’s up?” muttered Ron uncertainly. “Have you still got Millicent’s nose or something?”

Neville sighed.

Hermione let her robes fall, she watched as Ron backed up quickly, colliding with the sink. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had gone yellow and there were long pointed ears poking through her hair. “It was a c-cat hair!” she howled. “M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn’t supposed to be used for animal transformations!”

“I must say, I never thought you three would break so many – hey, Granger, you look like Bulstrode’s cat! Even the facial markings are the same.”

Hermione howled and lifted the robe back over her face, hiding her from view.

“Why does this room smell like recently brewed Polyjuice Potion?” questioned Harry, already knowing the answer to that question. “Did you pay a fifth-year to make it for you then use your fame to silence him?”

“No!” barked out Ron. “Bribery is done by you Slytherins and not us Gryffindors.”

“Right,” said Harry, the world rolling off his tongue with the most sarcasm he could muster. “How foolish of me to not know that all Slytherins are master politicians at the age of eleven, are prodigies in the art of lying, have no emotions and are able to conceal their facial expressions effortlessly.”

“I-I didn’t say that!”

“Of course you didn’t,” said Harry, smirking. “Now, let’s get back to the matter of hand and why you lot are parading around in Slytherin robes that you had swiped from the laundry.”

“We – uh – we…”

“I get it,” interrupted Harry, annoyed at the fact that Weasley was spending more time spluttering on his own words instead of having a decent defence. “Granger here has a thing for Crabbe and Goyle and wanted a nice striptease for your efforts in drinking and consuming Polyjuice Potion for her, because you, Weasley, have a giant crush on her and wish to appease her in any way you can, even as another boy.”

“Potter!” roared Hermione, her hands grasping tightly at the robes that were hung over her head. “This is a girls’ bathroom! You shouldn’t be in here!”

“You’re right, Granger,” said Harry, looking concerned. “Come, Weasley, Longbottom, we shouldn’t be in here as we’re boys and this is a girls bathroom, as Granger so helpfully provided us.”

“What?”

“Come on, Weasley,” said Harry. “I didn’t stutter and I know that I used simple words for you to understand. We better leave the angry kitty cat before it coughs up a furball or something else as disgusting as that.”

Moaning Myrtle let out a hearty guffaw and then wailed, swooping in on Hermione. “You’ll be teased something dreadful.”

“It’s alright, ‘Mione,” said Neville quickly, getting in before anyone could react to Myrtle and her teasing ways when other people were suffering. “We’ll take you up to the hospital wing and get it all sorted out.”

“Under the rug it goes,” cut in Harry. “Bet no one will even dare question why you lot stole ingredients, brewed an illegal potion, attacked two students and broke into the common room of another house.”

“Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions,” said Neville, ignoring Harry. “We can just tell her that a spell went wrong.”

“And you think she’ll believe that? You think she’s stupid enough to not know the difference between a potion induced incident and a spell related one? If you tell her it was a spell then she could try countering it with spells and that could cause Granger to remain like that forever,” said Harry, delighted in the fact that Granger’s eyes went wide, which was comical as they were cats eyes. “I’d wager you three are coming close to a suspension.”

Neville, Ron and Hermione started a discussion, intent on just ignoring Potter and trying to figure out a cover story so they don’t get in to much trouble. Neville knew that Hermione regret stealing from Professor Snape and she had been rather touchy lately, claiming that she could get expelled. No matter that he had said that Harry had done the same thing and got away with no detention or lost points didn’t cheer her up or make her feel any better about it.

“You can ignore me all you want, but I won’t go away.”

“I really wish you would!” snapped Hermione, her face still hidden, despite the conversation she was having with Neville. “You’re only making this worse for us! You do know that right?”

“Forgive me, Granger, for making this whole situation worse for you when you broke into the Slytherin common room and interrogated Draco and I under the guise of Crabbe and Goyle.”

“We were only trying to figure out who the heir of Slytherin is,” said Hermione, sniffing.

“Nowhere has anyone said that the heir is a Slytherin,” countered Harry. “It could be a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor.”

“We thought it was Malfoy,” said Hermione, glaring with her fantastic bright yellow eyes. “At first we thought it was you, despite Neville – don’t laugh!”

“Me?” choked out Harry, mixed between laughter and sneering at the stupid girl. “You assumed it was me that petrified Filch’s stupid flea-ridden cat and that annoying first-year Gryffindor that was intent on exposing our world?”

“That’s why we suspected you!”

“Whatever, Granger, continue on with your tirade.”

“We dropped the thought when Neville told us you were apparently the heir to the Gryffindor line,” said Hermione, leaning in slightly for confirmation.

“Indeed,” said Harry, smirking. “The Potter line is said to be descended from Gryffindor, due to the similar traits between the two families, the looks and the same sense of self-righteousness that Godric apparently had. I cannot claim that it is direct or indirect as no Potter has been ambitious enough to try and claim the namesake of the Gryffindor line.”

“Why not?”

“Do you have a brain?” asked Harry. “There’s a reason you don’t see any active people with the surname of the four founders parading around the wizarding world. The name is dead, Granger, the line may continue, but none can claim the name as they were married off to other families or died.”

“And what about you?” asked Hermione tensely, her eyes narrowing. “ _Hogwarts: A History_ clearly states an heir will go straight to their respective house.”

“We’re going in circles…”

“Just answer it, Potter.”

“Fine! They should but I’m clearly better than everyone else and the Salazar part of the hat saw my potential and got me before the Godric part of it. Godric is most likely rolling in his grave at the sheer thought of his supposed heir being in Slytherin and Salazar is probably grinning like a loon.”

“That still makes no sense, Potter,” said Hermione.

“Honestly speaking, opening the Chamber of Secrets is a horrid and one of the least Slytherin ways on purging the school that it actually hurts to think that it’s being done by a Slytherin,” said harry, grimacing. “No ‘monster’ would last a thousand years locked away in some sort of chamber alone and without food.”

“You seem to know an awful amount of information on the Chamber of Secrets,” said Ron, his eyes narrowed. “Care to share anything of importance?”

“Of course I do, Weasley!” snapped Harry, glaring at said boy. “I’m so glad that you’re able to string an intelligent string of words together now.”

Ron glared. It intensified when Neville silenced him with one of those ‘if you provoke him, it’ll just keep going and going until someone gets hexed’ looks.

“I decided to do some research the moment the first attack happened and that little message was scribbled on the walls with red paint,” said Harry, reciting the message on the wall with remembered ease. “It didn’t take me long figure out that the enemies of the heir were Muggle-born students.”

“So, I see that you’re not saying Mudblood any longer?” said Hermione, glaring. She couldn’t help but throw that little piece of information at him. He deserved it, to be honest.

Harry turned towards Hermione with a calm facial expression, a small hint of annoyance flickered over it as he thought on how to start off his reply. “Do you want me to call you a Mudblood, Granger? Is that it? If you truly desire for me to call you a Mudblood I’ll oblige, being the gentleman that I am.”

Ron tensed and glared hatefully at Potter, ignoring the gasp from both Neville and Hermione. The former of the two was hoping that this little argument was finished and done.

“The letters from my mother and Narcissa will be ignored and it won’t bother me in the slightest at all,” continued Harry, ignoring the three Gryffindors. “I’ll greet you daily as the Mudblood you wish me to call you and I’ll make sure to do it in the most scathing tone I can muster. I’ll even inform the Slytherins to constantly call you it, no matter the consequences.”

Hermione sniffed as she wiped furiously at her eyes, tears slowly dripping from her yellow eyes. “You don’t need to be so rude about it! You could’ve just apologised.”

“Why would I apologise when I did nothing wrong at all?” said Harry, his tone slightly bitter. “If you had any sort of manners and knowledge on the wizarding world you’d know that sticking your nose into another person’s business is a terrible way to make friends, Granger – not that you had any prior until last year.”

“Potter!”

“If you hadn’t assumed that Draco had bought his way onto the Slytherin team with a bunch of expensive and new brooms, nothing would have been said,” continued Harry. “I’m not a Weasley, Granger, I won’t step aside for money and hope that I get some. You, no one else, started that Granger – I finished it, Granger, I finished the little argument and the action of you sticking your unwelcome nose into my business, because that’s what I am. I’m a finisher, Granger. I don’t start them, I finish them.”

“Glad to see you’re done with your monologue, Potter,” snarled Ron, his fists clenched. “If you could leave now…”

“How can you not feel bad for what you said at all?” asked Hermione, the robe hiding her face dropped, revealing a face covered in fur. “What you said was horrible! Even if I had no idea what it meant at the time, you still said it to cause distress!”

“Can you stop parroting your feelings at me, Granger? You’re giving me a headache.”

Hermione stood silent for a moment, her yellow eyes boring into Potter’s green eyes. “Do you not have any empathy?” she asked softly, scared of the answer she would get. “Do you not feel remorse or even slightly sorry for how you hurt my feelings?”

“No, Granger, I don’t feel sorry that I seemed to hurt your feelings,” sneered Harry. “Must you take things so seriously? What I said to you was hardly offensive nor should you have been offended by a word that you didn’t even understand.”

“But you should!” said Hermione in a slightly whining tone, sounding like a child who wanted an extra piece of chocolate. “It’s a basic human emotion, a basic human feeling! A natural one at that, unless you’re a…”

“Cut the dramatics, Granger,” snapped Harry, wanting to know what the girl thought about him. “Pausing mid-sentence like you’re debating everything you’ve ever learned isn’t suspenseful, it’s annoying.”

“No.”

“No?” repeated Harry. “What do you mean, ‘no’? You cannot just start to claim something about me, pause dramatically and then say no.”

“Drop it, Potter.”

“Shut up, Weasley,” said Harry, turning towards said boy. “I want to know what your little know-it-all friend thinks about me. Come on, Granger, tell me what you think I am.”

“No… no. No, I need more time to put it together and get more evidence,” said Hermione, her tone chipped and slightly panicked. “I’m sure you already know anyway, people like you know instantly and if you don’t… then I’m not giving you the satisfaction of me telling you.”

“Are you serious?” said Harry and then snorted and twisted his head towards Weasley and Longbottom, not even bothering to waste his time with Granger, who was clearly messed up in the head. “Whatever, Granger, I don’t really care what nonsense you’re sprouting off about empathy and remorse. What I do care about, and it’s an important issue, is why you three decided to drink and brew Poly juice Potion and then sneak into the Slytherin common room to interrogate me and Draco.”

“I told you before,” said Ron, glaring. “We thought it was because Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin and it was him who was attacked the students! The Malfoy family has been in Slytherin for centuries without going elsewhere.”

“Alright…”

“We also thought that Malfoy may have told Crabbe and Goyle about it,” said Neville. “They’re pretty thick and we were certain that it would be possible to get it out of him again.”

“Well… that explains the brilliant Gryffindor planning from you two, but not why Granger decided to attend the interrogation as a cat.”

“I was going to go as Millicent Bulstrode,” said Hermione. “The hair was from her cat and not from her.”

“Why Bulstrode, Granger?” asked Harry. “That’s pretty offensive of you, picking the three overweight Slytherins to impersonate.”

Hermione gasped. “No, no! They were the easiest!”

“So fat people are easy?” said Harry, smirking. “That’s rather offensive of you, Granger.”

“Ignore him, Hermione.”

“Ruin all my fun, Longbottom,” said Harry, scowling. “If you came as Bulstrode then we would’ve realised that something was wrong and not right instantly as she left not even forty minutes before Weasley and Longbottom got lost in the dungeons.”

“Left where?” asked Hermione.

“To go home for the Christmas holidays, Granger,” said Harry, shaking his head slightly. “Clearly you didn’t think this one though.”

“She was staying here over the holidays!” said Hermione. “I checked the list twice.”

“You need glasses, obviously.”

“I made sure that her name was on there!” said Hermione, ignoring the taunt from Potter. “We checked it in the morning and fifteen minutes before it was taken in.”

“Bulstrode went to the headmaster when she was informed that her mother had fallen down the stairs and was in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in intense care being force-fed potions because she couldn’t move any part of her body.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Not really,” said Harry and focused on better and more relevant things. “Even if it did work and you managed to swipe her hair and get her distracted for the hour that you questioning took, what makes you think that any of us like her?”

“You all seem friendly to each other in classes,” said Neville. “We just assumed.”

“Why would you assume that I would waste my own time speaking to Crabbe and Goyle?” asked Harry. “No one in Slytherin likes them, Longbottom, they’re useful and people tend to exploit that and make them do their bidding because Crabbe and Goyle don’t see anything beyond their own single digit intelligence quotient.”

“That’s a bit rude,” said Hermione. “What about Millicent Bulstrode? She seems nice enough.”

“Except that once she’s alone in the Slytherin common room she’s nothing short of a brute and the worst person you would ever speak to. You think that Parkinson can be annoying and distasteful? Just wait until you have a one on one with Bulstrode.”

“But in classes –”

“United front, Granger. I absolutely despite a vast majority of the Slytherin house, half the fourth-years and a majority of the sixth-years, but I’ll never openly taunt them in public or around other people,” said Harry, waving off the question. “It’s not that we’re all budding politicians or future dark lords that will rise up and smite every Muggle and Muggle-born student from the school seeing as quite a few of the pure-blood families manipulate Muggles and make wealth from them, not that they’d ever say they do.”

“That’s horrible!” said Hermione, gasping. “Using magic on Muggles...”

“No one said anything about magic, Granger,” said Harry, sneering at the girl. “Slytherin needs to keep a united front as most of the house are pure-bloods and that’s drilled into them from the moment they can talk. Let’s not forget that the headmaster intentionally makes Slytherin to be the target by Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.”

“That’s not true, Professor Dumbledore would never do that!” said Hermione, noting that Ron and Neville both agreed with her, which made her smile a little bit. “He wouldn’t be a headmaster if he did that.”

“Your parents would know, Granger, as they’re Muggles and clueless on anything that happens in our world. Mine are far too young and weren’t around prior to Dumbledore being a headmaster, same with Weasley’s parents. However, Longbottom’s grandma is old enough to have attended Hogwarts prior to Dumbledore, seeing as she’s like ninety.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, instead she listened to the explanation of how Hogwarts used to be ran compared to now.

“Even a few portraits talk about this recent hate that has started between all the houses and Slytherin. Did you know that was the reason that the study group that I made between Hufflepuff and Slytherin was cancelled? Complaints were just a cover up.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” asked Neville, looking rather concerned as he listened to each word that had been said. “We’ve both known Dumbledore for more than half our lives, Harry… since we were little. He would come to the family dinners that Molly did and the same with the ones that Lily done occasionally.”

Harry snorted. “He went to them for you, and only you, Longbottom, not me. I didn’t defeat Voldemort, I’m not the saviour of the wizarding world and I haven’t done the wizarding world any favours and earned myself a hyphenated nickname.”

“You should know more than anyone else that I never wanted to be the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’,” said Neville. “I just wanted to be known as me, not as some famous wizard.”

“If you wish to believe that, Saviour,” said Harry, waving the boy away. “I was always rather curious on why the headmaster of a supposed prestigious school would waste his time and sit down and eat Saturday dinners with two different families that he isn’t even closely related to. I assumed that it was just how he was, the doting grandfather of those less fortunate, the caring headmaster of a school that students would attend. Stupid of me, I know. I’m sure if I was a Gryffindor, like he had hoped, he would have treated me with some sort of respect and called me by my given name, as he did when I was around seven, but now? It’s Mr. Potter this and Mr. Potter that.”

“The headmaster of the school cannot have favourites and call you by your first name, Potter. Other students are called by their surnames.”

“What a brilliant observation, Granger, almost something I would have expected Weasley to say,” said Harry, sneering. “We’re not all Longbottom and cannot have half the wizarding world dote on us because we’re famous. Salazar forbid if someone calls Longbottom his surname and not ‘Neville’ once in his life.”

“No need to be petty…”

“No one is being petty, Weasley, so be quiet and mind your own business,” said Harry. “Professor Snape is aware that you stole the ingredients and he knows that that you were brewing Polyjuice Potion and trust that he isn’t thrilled with the knowledge in potions when it had been brewed illegally and could have caused the deaths of the three of you with the slightest mistake.”

“Hermione brewed it!” said Ron. “She’s better than you at Potions.”

“Not even close to my level in Potions, Weasley. Has Granger made or altered her own potion yet? Nope, as she’s clueless and hasn’t got half the talent that I do in just a fraction of my body,” said Harry, still sneering. “As I was saying, Professor Snape has already informed the headmaster that you’ve broken countless rules and broke into another houses common room. If no points are removed tomorrow, then I’ll know that you three got off without any punishment and that will just prove my theory correct.”

Ron spluttered something and was silenced by Hermione.

“Oh, Granger? Get your face fixed,” said Harry over his shoulder as he swept from the room, his robes billowing dramatically behind him as he walked through the slightly open door. He did wonder if the three of them would come clean and actually inform their Head of House about what they did or if he would actually have to follow up with his plan and inform Professor Snape, who would take points regardless.

\--

The days went by at a slow pace, without many students in the castle there wasn’t that much for the remaining students to occupy themselves with. Gifts and cards were handed out between the students that remained and some were placed in the common room of each house, allowing each student to have a sense of Christmas, not that the older Slytherins enjoyed sitting around in a group of first and second-year students.

The snow had lightened just a little bit, instead of falling all day and night, it only fell at night time and early mornings, causing anyone who wanted to jog or walk around the lake to require extra amounts of clothing and enough scarfs to cover half of the castle.

Gryffindor had lost over two hundred and twenty points but regained seventy points back for coming clean and caused the Gryffindor house to drop into the double digit numbers at a measly ninety-five points. It was explained that three students had stolen ingredients and then brewed and digested an illegal and somewhat controlled potion. The mentioning of entering another houses common room was left out to protect the house.

No one pressed charges for the magical impersonation, which Weasley was thankful for as his family wouldn’t be able to pay the five hundred Galleon fine that would have been charged to them.

Of course, while most of the other students were inside in the castle and embracing the warmth of the fires and the comfort of the castle, one person was standing outside in the snow, banging on the door leading into the Slytherin changing rooms.

“Stop banging, Harry!”

“It’s cold out here, Draco, and I’m freezing to death,” said Harry, shivering slightly. “I didn’t agree to this so you could kill me by freezing me.”

“I’m almost done!”

“Your hair will get ruined anyway,” stuttered Harry as a rather powerful gust of freezing cold wind slammed into his side. “I swear to Salazar, hurry up!”

“Just a second, Harry!” panted Draco, as he jogged towards the door and swung it open, allowing the shivering Harry to step inside. “I’m ready.”

“It’s about time! Do you know how long I have been standing there in the cold wind with snow covering me?” asked Harry, his teeth still chattering as his body adapted to the warm room. “I have no idea why you made me stand outside in the snow like some sort of servant when I could have come in here and just faced the wall while you changed into the Quidditch robes.”

“Because you would peak!” said Draco, shifting around. “You would start to talk and then I would reply and then you would spin around to look at me as you spoke, using your facial expressions is something that you tend to do and you cannot stand to talk when not facing someone.”

Harry listened as Draco continued to rant on about seeing him naked, which caused him to laugh. “I have seen you naked before, Draco,” he said, rolling his eyes. “More than once, in fact. We used to bathe together when we were younger, remember?”

“Be quiet!” said Draco in a whisper, looking concerned. “What if someone heard you say that just now? It would ruin us.”

“On the Slytherin hierarchy chart?” asked Harry, his tone dripping with sarcasm as if the sheer thought was ridiculous. When Draco nodded, he couldn’t help but snort. “You mean that thing that we haven’t seen or spoken about since our first year at the school and now that we’re nearly three months into the school year that you’re concerned about the hierarchy chart? That chart does not matter, no one takes it seriously either way and I doubt no one has at all, ever. In fact, I could almost suggest it was made by a megalomaniac who wanted to be in power and needed a bit of parchment to assure him of that.”

“How can you say such things, Harry!” said Draco, his face morphed into one of shock and his voice was laced with surprise. “What happened to you being the one to lead Slytherin? All our plans?”

“One day, Draco, I will have the entire Slytherin house listening to my every word with anticipation and delight,” said Harry, as if repeating a rehearsed speech. “I’m a born leader, Draco, not a follower. I’m twelve, though, and the fifth, sixth and seventh-years will not listen to a twelve year old, no matter what I do and try.”

“But the chart!”

“That hierarchy chart has never once been mentioned in anything regarding Slytherin and it looks like a recent addition, seeing as its location is under a fairly new tapestry that was put up fifty years ago,” said Harry. “I’m sure it was made and added by someone with an inferiority complex that charmed their name at the top and claimed that they had found it. A few hours with a piece of parchment and some charms and you can make an updating piece of parchment that changes whenever it’s viewed.”

Draco just muttered under his breath, especially when Harry mentioned that people would follow him and not some piece of parchment. “It doesn’t matter now, you haven’t heaps of time to deal with all that, what we need to do now is for you to teach me that move that you never taught me because you hadn’t mastered it yet.”

“Dragging me out in the cold to learn flying moves when the next match is in like four months…”

“If this was reversed you’d be making me teach you the moment you knew I could do something,” said Draco. “I need time to learn and practice it! Also, the next Quidditch match is in two and a half months, not four.”

Harry smiled faintly and walked over towards the far wall, which held rows upon rows of brand-new looking broomsticks. He picked up a broom and muttered the Levitation Charm and hovered it alongside him as he walked back towards Draco. “Climb onto my broom, Draco,” he said and smirked when Draco gave him an odd look. “I am not going to start the basics outside in the freezing cold. I’m going to explain it all in here and then we’ll go outside and do it.”

Draco nodded and followed every instruction he was given, without complaint or argument and when he was finally sitting on the broom in an odd position he began to question mentally what Harry was planning to do. He knew that flying in the snow was a bad idea and that they could possibly learn everything and anything regarding flying and manoeuvres in the room they were currently in, but it would be dangerous.

“Alright, Draco, I’m going to sit in-between yours legs,” said Harry, shifting towards Draco with a speed that would make a vampire seem slow. “Reach around me and grasp the broom, just below my hands.”

Draco shifted his hands around Harry’s waist, ignoring all innuendos of brooms and anything of the sort. “Alright,” he said simply, the only word that came to his mind as he slipped his hands just below Harry’s.

“Now you need to tilt towards the right, as that’s your dominant side, and then lean into the loop, without veering the broom around.”

“Alright, Harry, that makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

Draco frowned at Harry’s back and attempted to tilt the broom towards the right and the broom instantly started swerving to the right, as it should. “How do I lean without moving the broom?”

Harry gently elbowed Draco in the rooms as he shifted around, muttering his apologies about it being an accident, which Draco snorted at. “You need to push your weight to the right, but keep the broom going straight ahead.”

“That’s not possible!”

“It is, Draco, I’ve done it countless times.”

“Harry…”

“Don’t you ‘Harry’ me and then drag it on with unsaid words, Draco,” said Harry. “It makes perfect sense.”

“I just don’t understand your logic about this, Harry,” muttered Draco, his chin digging into Harry’s shoulder. “When we lean towards a direction, the broom will follow our body weight and go in that direction.”

“Did you not listen to me when we first learned how to fly?” asked Harry, letting out a sigh. “It’s all about intent, like most of magic. If you will the broom to go straight, it will.”

“Of course –”

“Hold on tight,” said Harry, cutting into whatever Draco was going to say. “This will test the grip that have on me and I don’t wish to see you fly off and slam into the wall or a bench because of your own carelessness.”

“Wait, what? Hold on just a second!” said Draco, far too late. He felt Harry lean into the turn, as if he was zooming around the open Quidditch pitch and then he oddly found himself spinning, as if he was on the verge of crashing. “What the –”

“See how easy that was,” said Harry, ignoring the indents of Draco’s fingernails on his hands as well as the slight pain that came from it. “You see, Draco, if you just listened to my advice we wouldn’t have to do that and I wouldn’t have had your nail marks etched into my skin.”

Draco, who was still gaping, was speechless and unable to form a coherent sentence, let alone explain how that felt.

Harry climbed off the broom, easily untangling Draco from his person. “Do you understand what I mean now?” he said, steadying the broom so that Draco didn’t shoot off into the roof.

“No, no. Not really. Harry, listen,” said Draco, pondering on how to approach the subject. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Anything is possible, Draco.”

“But that isn’t! Father took me to see a broom being made and the spells stop the rider from spinning around as it would cause confusion between the rider and the broom,” said Draco, parroting the man who explaining turning and control from the brooms. “You’re confusing the broom with intention commands and it has no idea how handle multiple wishes at the same time, so it goes the ultimate one that you wish to do, which is –”

“To turn in a direction,” finished Harry, smiling. “But that’s not it, is it? My major intent was to go straight while I leaned and swivelled around the broom. My primary focus being straight, which the broom accepted.”

“Oh Merlin!” said Draco. “Here I was thinking you were some sort of genius that overruled the charms placed on the broom.”

“Hey now, let’s not be hasty,” said Harry, smirking. “I deserve some credit for the finding of this. No other Seeker has ever done this before and it’ll allow for far more stable Snitch catches.”

“I made it myself, I did it by accident.” Harry confessed softly, not wanting Draco to yell at him about learning moves on a broom alone. “It allows you to turn on your broom, but keep the broom going in the same direction, allowing for more stable Snitch catches.”

“Ridiculous!” said Draco, throw his hand sup into the air. “How could anyone ever want to hang upside to catch a Snitch? You could just drop down and then pick it up.”

Harry stared at Draco as if he had just grown another head. “This is better as it can be done quicker and more stealthily than the other open of dropping,” he muttered. “Trust me, this is a basic move, but this same technique opens to other things, it’s what I started doing last year. You go do it to dodge Bludgers without changing your path or to fly underneath other players and avoid a collision.”

“It looks like the risk is greater than the reward, Harry,” said Draco, replaying how it felt in his head. “When you done it, I almost flew off the broom.”

“If you held on that wouldn’t have happened,” said Harry, huffing. “It’ll take some time, but you’ll grow to appreciate the technique.”

Draco forced down the snort that threatened to rise the most Harry spoke so seriously about it and just smiled at him as he dropped down onto the stool that was lined across the back of the room. “I’m sure that in time I’ll grow to appreciate that highly dangerous technique. Sadly, I’m not a lunatic on a broom and I may never even try it again.”

Harry snorted. “What utter lies that is, Draco,” he said, lowering his voice into an imitation of Draco’s. “‘I can do a backflip, Harry, watch!’”

“That was _once_!”

Harry twisted his head slightly, his mock expression of Draco still in place. “Oh, look, Harry, look what I can do –”

“Be quiet, you cretin,” said Draco, sniffing. “You need a haircut, Harry, your hair is a disgrace – not to mention that it seems as if it grows unnaturally fast… I assume it’s because of all those charms you use to style it.”

“It’s not that long, it’s not even past my eyes yet,” said Harry, defending his hair. He ran his hand through it slowly, making sure that it wasn’t as long as Draco had claimed to be and sighed in relief when he realised it wasn’t that long. “I could make it to the end of this year before I need another haircut.”

“I’m pretty sure that your hair will have grown at least half the length that it is now,” said Draco, snorting in laughter a she imagined Harry with long hair like his father. “It’ll end up near your nose and the back will by just as bad! You’ll look like a girl, Harry.”

“Oh shut up, you prat! You honestly look like more of a girl than me, you know, with your hair slicked back like you’re wearing pigtails with little bows on them, much like Susan Bones from Hufflepuff.”

Draco gasped and had a horrified look plastered over his face.

“It’s true, it does look odd on you,” said Harry, pondering it. “Maybe, next year, we can improve your hair a little bit.”

“My hair is perfect, yours is a mess,” muttered Draco with a sniff. “You should have your hair just like you did when you were ten, so you can comb it nicely, that’d look great.”

“Of course. If it looks horrible, then I can just blame you,” said Harry with a half-smile. “Hair is hair to me, it’s you who tends to prefer how my hair looks.”

“Of course I care about how your hair looks, Harry, it’s me that will be judged if it’s a mess. I want to style your hair one day, I saw a hairstyle in one of mother’s magazines.”

“Oh Merlin, I already fear how my hair will turn out… those hairstyles are taken from Muggle hairstyles, you do know that, right?”

“Surely not!” said Draco. “They look like they were styled by magic.”

“Magic known as hair styling products, which we also have,” muttered Harry, a very evil looking smirk forming on his face. “Trust me, a lot of Muggle things are the foundation for wizarding things.”

“I know that, we just improve them and make them better, such as hair products, no Muggle product would last as long as ours!”

“Of course –”

“As for the hairstyle, if mother was looking at it, then you know it will be stylish.”

“Of course,” said Harry again, frowning. “I know that anything your mother chose would be perfection in every shape or form that it could muster.”

“Yes.”

Harry rolled his eyes and gestured towards his hair. “What if I would like to have long hair, Draco? What if I want my hair to reach my nose?”

Draco frowned and then glared. “If you ever let it get that long, not even Merlin would save you from my wrath.”

“Oh, you’re so dramatic,” said Harry with a genuine laugh, he nudged Draco and stood, pulling the boy with him. “Come on, we weren’t really meant to be in here. As for the flying, it’s too cold, so you’re just going to have to get dressed in the castle.”

“You made me put on these and not even use them?” said Draco, jumping away from Harry. “I am not walking back to the castle in these! There’s a reason that no Quidditch games are held during the Christmas season, Harry!”

“Well, then change in here, you imbecile,” said Harry. “I’ll just turn and face the wall. Just call out when you’re done.”

“ _Fine_!”

Harry waited and waited, listening to the soft sounds of rustling clothes and the mutterings of an irate boy and the ruined clothes that he now had due to creases. It was a few more seconds of rustling and muttering when he heard his name and nothing else. He spun around, ready to chastise Draco for taking so long in getting dressed as it wasn’t rocket science, not that Draco would know what that was.

What he saw wasn’t a dressed Draco. Not even close.

Standing there, completely starkers, was Draco Malfoy, his neck, cheeks and ears all reddening at the exact same time as they spun around at the same time. “Why in Salazar’s name would you say my name and then remain silent if you were undressed and nude?”

“I didn’t think you would turn around, Harry, I was asking if you knew where my shirt was!”

“No need to be prissy about it,” muttered Harry, despite the fact he was the one who had gotten prissy about seeing his friend naked. “I didn’t see much, Draco, so don’t you dare start raving about it. Let’s not forget that I have seen all that you offer before and I’m sure that it’s the same. We have the same parts…”

“Right.”

“Don’t be awkward about it, Draco, I saw your chest and your bottom, that’s it.”

“Can you not say bottom?” asked Draco. “You sound like an old person.”

Harry continued listing all names that describe the bottom and ignored the scowl that Draco and his rebuke of his vulgar mouth. Piers Polkiss taught him a few swears when he spent the summer holidays with his aunt.

“I’m sure we’ll laugh about this in a few weeks or something, I’m sure of it.”

“Come on, Draco, when you’re fully dressed we will go to the kitchens and get something to eat and a nice warm cup of cocoa or something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay. The site signed me out and I forgot my password. :s
> 
> As for the fine for Polyjuice impersonation... I felt as if it explained it perfectly, otherwise everyone would just use Polyjuice for crimes. :p


	23. Justin and Ernie

Chapter 23 – **Justin and Ernie**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 04/July/2016_

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the Christmas holidays in solitude with his nose in-between the pages of various books. He had read more than he had during the holidays than any other period of the year, both last and the current year. He was currently reading the _Book of Common Prayer_ , or better known as: _The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church according to the use of the Church of England together with the Psalter or Psalms of David pointed as they are to be sung or said in churches and the form and manner of making, ordaining, and consecrating of bishops, priests, and deacons_. It was a mouthful to pronounce and when he had asked Madam Pince for it, she blinked at him before asking him to repeat it.

Draco had spent most of his days complaining about everything that he could, ranging from: All the work they had to do, especially over the holidays, the essays that Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall set, which were double the normal length, the excessive amount of theory that they were being provided instead of practical work and of course the fact that someone had taken his personal shampoo.

Harry was spending the last few days of the holidays moving around the furniture in the common room, which caused amusement for the remaining Slytherins. He had attempted to use magic and found that it didn’t work as all the furniture was somehow magic proof. This bit of information just made him more dedicated to the cause, as he wasn’t pushing the sofa around like a Muggle. Sending an overpowered spell at the sofa it started to move, which made him turn and send a smirk towards the doubtful onlookers.

“Watch out –”

“Oh my –”

Harry had no idea what they were talking about until he twisted back around and watched as the chair bucked in mid-air and zoomed at the large window, holding back a lethal amount of water. He watched as the sofa slammed into the window, smashing into pieces as it did so, and caused it to shudder slightly at the impact.

Everyone held their breaths, hoping that the window wouldn’t crack.

It was as if all the professors in the school had Apparated into the dungeons as the wall vanished and in they strode, looking around curiously.

“What happened?” barked Professor Snape. “Tell me now!”

“You’ll never believe this professor –”

Severus was sure that he wouldn’t believe it.

“– I was sitting on the sofa and I was debating about what I should read next, seeing as I was about to start the next book when the sofa made this sound that sounded like a dying animal,” said Harry, explaining. “It started bucking and thrashing around wildly as if it had been possessed!”

Severus was actually wondering if Harry believed this story. “And then what happened, Mr. Potter?”

“It then flew into the window,” said Harry, a lock of surprise on his face. “Draco’s Transfiguration homework was sitting on the sofa when it decided to act possessed, so he’ll need an extension.”

Professor McGonagall looked sterner than usual, but remained silent.

“That’s not all, though,” continued Harry. “That’s the same sofa that the Gryffindor intruders sat on. I smell sabotage and attempted murder.”

“That’s a serious accusation, Mr. Potter.”

“First time anyone sits on the same sofa and it goes flying into the wall,” said Harry, ignoring the headmaster. “What else did they do to our common room? They’re plotting to kill us.”

“The Gryffindor house is noble and brave –”

“I think Granger should be checked for any more suspicious things,” said Harry, cutting in on the blatant bias defending of the Gryffindor house. “The ancient and noble house of Godric Gryffindor have already attempted to infiltrate the Slytherin common room, what else could they be doing?”

All the professors besides Professor Snape soon fled and went back to their previous tasks, but not before heading up to the Gryffindor common room to interrogate Hermione Granger.

“How any of them believed that dribble is beyond me,” said Professor Snape, waving his wand at the broken sofa. “Now, what were you really doing? If you were duelling in the common room, I will be highly displeased.”

“Renovating.”

“You were… renovating?” said Professor Snape, confused. “Renovating what? The colour scheme?”

“The common room,” said Harry. “I wanted to make a little reading are near the giant windows so that I could read out and look at the water and not the bland walls that tend to cover the entire room.”

“I explained that all the objects are immune to magic due to the fact that people many years ago, students decided to burn them when in foul moods and it was becoming tiresome to force them to replace the items constantly.”

“How did you make the objects immune to magic?” asked Harry, looking impressed. “That’s quite a feat that you’ve done.”

“Advanced Arithmancy.”

“Ah!” said Harry, “I’ll have to read ahead so that I can do such things as this. It would be amusing to watch as people failed to cast magic on something.”

“You’ll have to speak to Professor Vector about that, as she is the professor of Arithmancy.”

“Yes, Professor Snape.”

Professor Snape left before he could get dragged into a longwinded discussion about the pros and cons of Arithmancy and then begged for help on how to make the magic immune thing so Harry could use it to harass Draco with all his hair products.

“How can you read so much?” asked Draco, tapping his foot on the stone floor. Professor Snape had left the room not even fifteen seconds ago and Harry had already found another book to read and another sofa to sit on. “Each day you have a new book in your hands, pressed up against your face. Are you sure that you haven’t accidently picked up a cursed book? You know, something like _Sonnets of a Sorcerer_ , which caused anyone who read it to speak in limericks for the rest of their lives. And then there was some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed.”

Harry put down the book, making sure he remembered what page and line number he was on and gently closed it. “Draco, I am aware of cursed books and I’m pleased to inform you that I have never once gone near one,” he said certainly. “However, you did leave out a few interesting ones, such as the one that caused the reader to randomly spew out lines in a book that they had last read – the issue is that it stopped you from reading another book so you sprouted phrases from a magical book, which makes you appear insane if you’re a Muggle. Oh, and the one that caused the reader to think that they had an incurable disease and would make them insane from the sheer thought of unavoidable death.”

“Only you would repeat the darker curses on books that would make most kids never pick up a book again.”

“I didn’t even list the one that would make your eyes burn our or the one that would cause you to org –”

“Enough!” said Draco, shuddering. “I’m certain that you’ve been cursed and that you’ll keep reading books for your entire life. If you could shower and read a book, I’m sure you would.”

Harry wanted to sigh and just pick up the recently closed book and lose himself in it, ignoring Draco in the process. “As I have said before, Draco, knowledge –”

Harry wanted to sigh and just pick up the book and ignore Draco. “As I have said it before, Draco, knowledge –”

“Is power,” finished Draco was a grin. “We have all heard your phrase by now, Harry. I’m sure that the first-years could even recite it and they haven’t even spoken to you yet.”

“Good.”

“They also use the term ‘pulling a Potter’ when they start to study for a long period.”

“Well, I, personally, am glad that students are incorporating my name into things and not being foolish about it. I am, however, surprised that I’m yet to hear about this,” said Harry, his eyes narrowing. “Of course, how foolish of me! This must just be a recent thing and that’s why I’m only just now hearing about it.”

“It started last year, after the exams finished and you were still studying while everyone else was celebrating,” said Draco. “Of course, it only got popular early this year when people realised that you spent all your time in the library or reading a book that most of us wouldn’t dare pick up until the sixth year.”

“Hmph.”

“No need to sound so haughty.”

Harry stood from the sofa, watching as the water clashed harshly against the window that he had sent the sofa at. “I don’t mind, to be honest, at least people are following my advice and studying.”

“You say that like no one studies in this house.”

“Look at Crabbe and Goyle,” said Harry with a wave of his hand. He left it at that and paced around the sofa. “I don’t mind, you know, about the name. People are following my advice, which is a small step into getting them to follow my word. We must unite the Slytherin house completely, no more internal issues.”

“Yes…”

“We should be unified to stop people from getting stupid ideas to try and betray us.”

Draco held Harry’s eyes before he sighed and slumped slightly. “Sometimes you act far more mature than you should be for your age. It’s quite scary,” he said honestly. “You know more than anyone else that I’m perfectly fine learning what little knowledge that I can that will get me by, especially for my future career, but you’re almost a madman when it comes to learning.”

“That is the only thing that separates us, Draco, you’re just perfectly fine learning the necessities. I must learn everything I can, about any subject,” said Harry, walking towards Draco. “You know that compared to a lot of the other Slytherins that I’m at a massive disadvantage, especially if you add up the little things. People will overlook any and all of my achievements to sneer down at me because of my blood; others will disregard me for the fact that I’m not famous like Longbottom and have very little give compared to those; some may even disregard me be because I don’t live in a manor that’s half the size of Hogwarts.”

Draco sighed and forced himself to not roll his eyes and burst out laughing. It was a battle that he almost lost. “You act like you’re an orphaned Muggle-born with no heritage or money. You have plenty of money, more than most other Slytherins that attend this school. Your lineage is more than the Malfoy lineage with the Potter’s being descendants of Gryffindor, something that not many can actually claim.”

“Yes, I know,” said Harry, letting out a sigh. “But none of that matters when I’m a half-blood and they’re a pure-blood.”

“You’re putting too much on blood, Harry.”

“Because of that, Draco,” said Harry, ignoring his friend’s words. “I cannot be ordinary, Draco, I have to extraordinary.”

“I can assure you that your blood will be irrelevant in a few years,” said Draco. “People won’t care and the next generation will repeat the same insults and same sneers and the cycle will continue.”

“Rather wise of you.”

“Hardly,” scoffed Draco, trying not to laugh. “It’s something that mother said to me and that it would be best if I didn’t lose myself in the fact I was called a pure-blood.”

“Hm…”

“I’m sure if I never met you, Harry, I would be the very same, I’d be a stuck up brat who would torment others.”

“I doubt that, Draco, I doubt it very much. Even if there was such a thing as multiple universes that are the same besides for minor decisions then your personality would be the exact same in each of them,” said Harry with a roll of his eyes before a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Your base personality would remain the same in any multiple universes or the likes, but that doesn’t mean that the butterfly effect wouldn’t exist. If your mother and my mother never met all those years ago by chance then there’s a high chance that you’d never have grown up around me and thus you wouldn’t be lenient towards anything but pure-blooded wizards and witches. You would follow in the common belief between pure-bloods that everyone else is scum and beneath you.”

“Hey!” said Draco, his eyes narrowed. “Try and be a little less offensive.”

Harry ignored Draco and continued on with that particular train of thought silently. He instantly sat back down and pulled out his black book and flicked it open onto the page and began writing about his theories on multiple dimensions, alternate universes and the butterfly effect in detail as he thought about it more and more. He knew that it couldn’t be proven and that it was impossible to travel into another dimension as you wouldn’t be able to go back and you would just cease to exist in the new universe or something crazy like that as two of the same person couldn’t exist. You would feel their emotions and they would feel yours and it’d be one big headache.

The whole situation behind each person having a different personality due to events was something that could and should be considered. No one could have the same personality behind different events. Maybe in one dimension he was raised by the Dursleys and they had never told him about magic until he was eleven and then he went off to Hogwarts without a lick of knowledge. In another he could have been placed in a Muggle orphanage and was hated and disliked… then the Hogwarts letter came and he would be a bitter boy because of how he grew up.

He began to draw a very weird looking planet, and then aligned two of them, while they looked different, they fit together like they belonged. His theory had a lot of merit and it could be worth investigating sometime in the future. He would like to study this in the future, perhaps in a few years when he was out of Hogwarts, maybe as a side project while he hunted for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, which hopefully would be given to him.

“Are you finished scribbling in your diary, Harry?” asked Draco, his arms folded over his chest as he sent his friend a mock glare. “I’m not sure if it had passed your notice or not, but we were having a conversation.”

“I apologise, Draco,” said Harry as he gently closed his book the moment he felt the ink was dry enough. He speared his hand through his slightly messy hair and shrugged. “I just had to document that little titbit of information, Draco, it was a breakthrough!”

“A breakthrough?” repeated Draco, his facial expression set in disbelief. “You briefly touched on a subject that thousands before you have thought about and then you call it a breakthrough? Don’t look at me like that, Harry, you know that I’m right.”

“It was…”

“Enough of a breakthrough for you to turn into an antisocial git and ignore me midway through a conversation?”

“I did apologise, didn’t I?” said Harry as he roughly tossed his quill into his bag. He scowled at Crabbe, who knocked something off a nearby table and just stared dumbly at it. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll do more research on it later, when I finally have the time and in the right mind frame to deal with thinking up alternate universes, which requires too much creativity… creativity that would be wasted for the moment.”

Draco sniffed and held his head high. “If you ever need help –”

“Then you would be glad to assist,” finished Harry, smiling. “I know and I’ll come to you anytime that I need your opinions. You know me, Draco, out of everyone, you’d be the first hat I come to for help.”

“I know, I was being stupid.”

Harry wanted to just tell Draco that he shouldn’t take his excuses without debating them. He watched as Draco slowly smiled and nodded, finally accepting the answer for what it was worth, at least in his eyes. It somewhat pained him that his best friend would take whatever he would say without questioning it.

Crabbe grunted towards the side, which happened to be the exit, and started to leave the room alongside Goyle, who was muttering about the kitchens and the rumour that you could enter them.

That made Harry smile as he knew where they were and he refused to tell the two idiots until they got a brain.

Draco sat down on the empty sofa, ignoring Crabbe and Goyle for the moment. “Harry,” he said softly, “maybe one day you’ll let me work with you on one of your projects, whether it be a spell or a potion.”

Harry turned and sat down next to Draco. He was going to say something, but he realised that Draco hadn’t finished yet.

“The last time we did something was when you made that potion, afterwards you began to do it all yourself. You made your own potion by yourself, and I wasn’t even told. You would tell me if you did anything else like that or had any secret talents that you’re not telling me?”

“Of course, Draco,” said Harry. “I only finished it by myself as I felt that you were afraid of getting splattered across the wall.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to see you splattered across the wall either.”

“You know that I’d tell you what I was working on, right?”

Draco lifted his chin, meeting Harry’s green eyes. Silver and green connected for what felt like hours. “Of course, Harry,” he said, his lips pursued and his expression eerily blank. “I trust you, I always will.”

Harry felt like something wasn’t right and that Draco wasn’t sounding like himself. He sent Draco a glance and realised that his long-time friend was looking rather defeated, as if he knew that he was being lied to and was just accepting it for some unknown reason. He continued to study Draco, who had his eyes firmly locked on the fireplace and then let out a strangled sounding sigh. He went over various scenarios in his head on how this situation could play out, and each of them ended with Draco shaking his head and leaving him standing there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes flicked towards the floor-to-ceiling window that caused the Slytherin common room to fill with a green glow and focused solely on that, not being able to not look at Draco was not a weakness, instead he was making sure that he didn’t crush the boy further than he already did.

“You’ll tell me what you’re working on next, right?” asked Draco, his voice soft and almost pleading. “Even if it’s something stupid and small, you’ll tell me what you plan to do?”

Harry pulled his eyes from the window and he found himself once more staring directly at Draco. “Of course, Draco, I’m not planning anything now, but I do plan to try and get the study group I set up back together, even if it secret meetings,” he said and smiled when Draco seemed to pick up a little bit, as if he needed this information. “Then I was going to look into spell creation as I recently learned that at Durmstrang you’re taught that in your second year, therefore I am falling behind.”

Draco nodded happily, he wondered if Harry would teach him some minor spell creation and help him make his own spells, but he didn’t want to hold his friend back. “Maybe I can watch as you learn the required material?” he suggested and smiled once more when his friend gave a very slight nod.

* * *

January flew by at a rather unusual speed. Many students were awestruck when they realised that the Christmas holidays had ended and other students would be returning within the following first week of January. The students who were returning entered the giant castle with trepidation, hoping that the attacks were done and dusted. For a while, despite the fact that no attacks had taken place, they still shook and avoided walking around corners in case they were suddenly petrified.

The worst thing is that no one knew what was causing the students to be petrified and you can be certain that every student that went home asked about it and studied as hard as they could about anything that could petrify.

The Hufflepuff house was still rather sour about the whole ordeal and they avoided every other house besides a select few in those houses. One of them getting petrified left all of them on the edge of their seats and made them highly untrusting on a first glance basis.

Ernie had taken to openly accusing and sneering at Neville Longbottom whenever the two crossed paths. He would often taunt and demand that Neville Longbottom be expelled from the school because he was ‘a dangerous criminal’ and was petrifying anyone who crossed his path. He simply ignored anyone who defended Longbottom and praised anyone who attacked him.

Not that anyone besides Hufflepuff knew this, of course, but it led to Ernie being somewhat ignored in his time due to the fact that quite a few believed that Longbottom wouldn’t attack or petrify people and that he was accusing the wrong people.

That’s why Ernie was spending the rather warm night sitting in the hospital wing, alongside the petrified body of Justin, with his book propped open next to said boy.

Harry pushed open the door to the hospital wing with his foot as he held a large assortment of potions in his arms. He vastly enjoyed his brewing, especially when he’s doing it with Professor Snape, who tends to improve every potion ever made, using less and less ingredients as time goes on. He knew that said Potions Master had ruined a vast amount of careers by not taking on apprentices and due to his rather cutthroat attitude, but that’s easy to get by.

He made a small mental note to not look to the left at the petrified bodies in fear of laughing at the ghost, who was hanging in mid-air, the professors unable to get him to actually lay on the bed. He hardly cared about Mrs. Norris, who had her own special bed, Creeves or the ghost, but Justin was somewhat of a friend and it was rather irritating to see him petrified.

Shutting the large door to the hospital wing with his foot, he slid on his heel and walked towards the main storage cabinet. He reached the cabinet with no issues, but that was a given, and slowly started to fill it up.

“You do know that Justin talked about you often, don’t you, Harry?” Ernie said softly, attempting to not startle the boy. He watched as Harry almost dropped the potion that he was holding and fought hard to not snicker at it. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Did he?” asked Harry, placing a potion in the correct position. “I never knew.”

“He spoke about you all the time.”

Harry snorted. “All good, I hope.”

“As good as it can be for a Slytherin,” said Ernie bitterly, his quill tapping against his book as he spoke.

Harry frowned as he closed the cabinet. “As much as you, and everyone else, wishes to believe that to be true, I’ll have to be the one to ruin it for you,” he said, pausing for just a moment. “Not all Slytherins are evil, just like not all Ravenclaws are smart, or all Gryffindors are brave.”

“I know…”

“I know that for a while you and a whole group of people assumed I was the heir of Slytherin and it was me who was going around petrifying people, but it’s not,” said Harry. “I can understand your suspicions and all that stuff.”

“Of course,” agreed Ernie. “You can be rather cold and bitter to people.”

“I’m not sure how to say this without coming off as stupid,” said Harry, thinking. “If I don’t act cold and bitter, then people will talk to me and try and spread their stupidity to me.”

Ernie snorted. “You’re right, Harry, you’ll sound so stupid, no matter how you put it.”

“I did like Justin,” said Harry after three minutes of silence. “It was a rather upsetting thing to learn that he was petrified.”

“But he’s a Muggle-born!” said Ernie, his eyes wide. “You called Granger a Mudblood not to long ago and the whole school knows about it. It didn’t do wonders for your reputation.”

Harry scowled as he dragged one of the more comfortable chairs towards Ernie and sat in it, sending the boy a curious glance. “Granger annoys me, Ernie. She shouldn’t have claimed that Draco had bought his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team… she assumed that I could be replaced with money,” he said in a clipped tone. “She may have been targeting Draco with the insult, but it was discreetly aimed at me. Honestly, Ernie, if it was me petrifying people, she’d be here instead of Justin.”

“I see…” said Ernie uneasily, not really wanting to talk about people getting petrified, especially with Justin not even an arm’s length away.

“My mother is Muggle-born, Ernie, do you really think I think so little of her that I would start to attack other Muggle-born students?” asked Harry, looking slightly amused. “If you have magic, then you’re magical, that’s enough for me.”

Ernie let out a sigh, one that seemed to be in-between relieved and acceptance and rubbed his forehead, causing ink to smear across it. “I know, Harry, I was just being _stupid_. Justin says that to me often enough, especially when it was about something small or irrelevant, such as History of Magic.”

“Trying to skive off History of Magic?” asked Harry, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Naughty.”

Ernie coughed into his hand. “You know, he used to think that you were nothing but a cold and bitter person… so stuck up that you would never bother to speak to a Hufflepuff, let alone befriend one.”

“My reputation causes damage in large amounts.”

Ernie scowled. “You do know that it was Justin that made most of us trust you, right?” he said, smiling. “He wasn’t used to most of the customs in the wizarding world at the moment and he had no idea that because you were a Malfoy by extension that most would avoid you and all that sort of talk. He continuously spoke about how nice and intelligent you are when you wanted to be and that eventually won us all over.”

“I’m not really sure if I should be flattered or not,” said Harry, eyeing the ink on Ernie’s forehead with a small amount of disdain, the smudge of black ink was grating on his nerves. “I’m sure that most would be freaked out or uncertain if someone spoke so fondly of them, but I think it’s rather nice that he speaks about me so.”

“Is that so?”

“Indeed,” said Harry, shrugging. “I heard that Justin was invited to go to Eton at the age of eleven.”

“Eton?”

“It’s a Muggle school, rather prestigious, if what my mother has said about it is correct.”

“I had no idea,” admitted Ernie, his eyes locked onto Justin’s body. “So, is it like the Muggle equivalent of Hogwarts?”

“Hogwarts is far from the best school in the wizarding world, Ernie. Our curriculum is so lacklustre and lacking that in the last three or so decades, Hogwarts has produced the lowest test scores in the wizarding world. You see, our current curriculum is intended to slowly integrate Muggle-born and half-blooded students that it forgets those that have roots in the wizarding world already.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can list hundreds of classes that have stopped being taught that should still be taught in the current age,” said Harry, holding up his fingers and beginning to list a few subjects, ticking them off his fingers as he spoke their names. “The school is great, Ernie, it is the headmaster that is at fault.”

“They used to teach all those classes?” said Ernie, making a sound that sounded like a whistle. He gently closed his book and bottled the inkbottle, placing it on the book. “I never thought that I would be friends with a Muggle-born, you know, or best friends… I met Justin on the train and he seemed to be so lost that I took pity on him and helped him out.”

“He was lost on the train?”

“Yeah,” said Ernie simply. “I told my parents that I was friends with a Muggle-born and I quite expected them to lash out at me or disown me or anything crazy like that.”

“I don’t think your parents would be that extreme, Ernie,” said Harry, holding in the grin. “At the most they would sneer at you and demand that you stop seeking contact with the boy and that all will be forgiven. I mean, you are in Hufflepuff.”

“Hey!”

“I meant no offence, of course.”

Ernie rolled his eyes. “When I told them about Justin’s petrification they seemed shocked and asked me if he would be pulled from school.”

“Will he?” asked Harry. “Be pulled from school, I mean.”

“No, no. No, he won’t,” said Ernie, his tone soft. “I spoke to Justin’s mum and she was all for allowing him to remain here, seeing as this is the first year that something like this has happened and that he needs the education.”

“And his father?”

“Wanted him out of this school the moment he was fixed,” said Ernie. “It’s even worse as they cannot come and visit him.”

“Wow,” said Harry simply. “It’s good that his mother allowed him to stay, we need to hone and train our magical skills… an untrained wizard is more deadly than a trained one.”

“Seems like something that’s in those Witch Weekly magazines,” said Ernie, grinning. “I had no idea you were into fashion, Harry.”

Harry snorted and gave Ernie a mock glare. “I attempted to try and rush the Mandrake Restorative Draught, but there wasn’t much that I could do without spending a thousand Galleons per attempt. I am not made of money, sadly.”

“I had no idea you were even attempting that,” said Ernie, surprise etched across his face. “How long?”

“As much as I would love to say that I’ve been studying it since Justin was petrified, that would be a lie,” said Harry, grinning. “Since I was ten, just a few months after my birthday. The Mandrake Restorative Draught is complicated, more complicated than most other potions or draughts simply because of its properties. Altering the potion could either worsen the effects of the petrification or make it more complex and make it harder to remove.”

“The rumour mill has it that you’re a potions prodigy,” said Ernie lightly, his eyes locked onto Justin. “Some have even gone as far as to say that you’re Professor Snape under Polyjuice.”

“Oh, wow,” said Harry. “I have never heard that one before.”

“It’s a rather new theory.”

Harry made a noise that sounded slightly like agreement and stared at Ernie’s forehead, not that the boy noticed. He was confused on why that little smudge of ink annoyed him so much. He studied it and found his annoyance grow and grow the longer that he saw it sitting on the boy’s forehead, as if it was mocking him. The uneasy silence that hung in the air did very little to help him get over the issue of the ink.

Without thinking, he stuck his finger in his mouth, coating the finger with saliva and swiped it at Ernie’s head, much like what a mother would do to her child when he had dirt on his face. He gently scrubbed at the ink, smiling when it smudged slightly and then vanished. He picked up a nearby washcloth and rubbed that across Ernie’s head, removing the saliva and any small traces of the black ink.

“Uh,” said Ernie, unsure of what had just happened.

“You had ink on your forehead, in case you didn’t notice,” said Harry, shrugging a little. “It was annoying my and it kept drawing my attention to it instead of your face.”

Ernie gave an awkward laugh and mumbled under his breath for a moment before straightening up and letting out a sigh. “I honestly cannot wait for Justin to wake up, you know. I probably sound so clingy, but he’s a good person – a great person. I like his conversations, even if they are about you or Gilderoy Lockhart.”

Harry let out a small laugh and shook his head. “The first thing that he said to me this year was about Gilderoy Lockhart,” he said, reminiscing about that conversation. “He came up to me and said something about the man was such a brave chap. That was in Herbology, the first lesson of the year when all houses were learning together due to issues amongst the staff and the timetables not being sorted properly.”

Ernie smiled fondly. “That lesson felt like it happened years ago… hard to believe it’s been about five months,” he said as he twisted and twirled the quill between his fingers, narrowly avoiding the inkpot. “I honestly hope that more of those lessons take place, where we’re all together. It was good to work with the other houses and not just Ravenclaw, who we essentially have all our classes with.”

“I don’t think that the professors will do that again, honestly,” said Harry, debating about the lesson. He did wonder if something like that would be held again, especially in later classes were the material is a little more advanced and they need groups to do it. The Duelling Club had all houses in it, except it was done per year instead of house, so seven separate lessons instead of four. “I hope they do, I can only work with Gryffindors a certain amount of times per week before I get agitated.”

Ernie laughed, his head nodding to the statement. “I must admit, they’re pretty noisy when you’re trying to do something. I was paired with Ron Weasley for a while and that was horrid. I hope that I don’t have much classes with them.”

“Have you been in the Gryffindor common room?” asked Harry, giving off a mock shiver at being forced to remember how the room had looked. “It’s so bright and hideous! There’s red and gold everywhere, no matter where you look your eyes are going to bleed from the sheer ghastliness that is the Gryffindor common room.”

“The portrait is something else too!” said Ernie, snickering. “I think her name is the Fat Lady.”

“Oh, yes, her,” said Harry, grinning. “She is horrendous! She screams herself hoarse before letting in the students. She screams about honour and how Gryffindors should be noble and not tardy.”

“Don’t drag your feet!” said Ernie, a perfect imitation of the portrait.

Harry and Ernie spoke on the matter for a little longer before shifting onto other things, such as the three other houses and not just Gryffindor. Surprisingly enough, it was mainly about Hufflepuff as Slytherin tended to be secretive about anything and everything about their house. Ernie had said Ravenclaws were too stuck up to function half the time and their common room was simply terrible, lined with books and other boring things.

Harry had am aghast look on his face.

Both boys had noticed and heard Madam Pomfrey as she bustled around in the hospital wing, throwing Cleaning Charms at random places, ridding the pristine white room of any sort of darkness. She hummed as she opened the potions cabinet, hoping to eradicate any dirt and grime in there. “Oh my,” she said, noticing the cabinet had been refilled. “Excellent.”

Harry smirked at Ernie, who had lifted a blond eyebrow at him.

“Well done, Mr. Potter!” said Madam Pomfrey, humming her approval of the large assortment of potions. “Both you and Professor Snape are a credit to potions! We would be so lost without you two.”

Harry blushed slightly, his ears going a lovely shade of red as he gently waved the woman off, informing her that he wasn’t going anywhere and that she still had his entire schooling life for potions of the best quality. He quickly twisted back to Ernie, noticing the time on the wall, and gave him a bright smile. “Thank you, Ernie, for talking to me today. It has been a rather hectic month and it’s great to be able to just sit down and talk to someone.”

Ernie stood up, his hand clasped around the side of Harry’s robe, face red he gently let it go. “Please stay, just for a little bit more,” he said softly. “There’s something important that I need to talk to you about.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded and sat back down. “Alright,” he said simply, hoping that would spur Ernie into speaking.

“Did you hear about Moaning Myrtle? She flooded the second floor corridor.”

That wasn’t what Harry had been expecting, let alone from Ernie. “I didn’t hear about that… did something happen?” he said slowly, trying to figure it out before Ernie could inform him. “It’s not common that a ghost could flood a bathroom, is it?”

“Yeah, that’s the odd thing!” said Ernie, his tone excited. “She shouldn’t have been able to flood the bathroom as she’s a ghost!”

Harry was about to cut across Ernie and ask how this little bit of information was relevant to anything that was occurring and that he was going to be late if he sat around and talked about ghosts all day. He wisely held his tongue when he realised that Ernie wasn’t finished and looked like he was about to explode.

“Rumour has it that someone else flooded the bathroom and then tried to blame Moaning Myrtle for it,” said Ernie, ignoring Harry’s snort and snide remark about Hufflepuffs and being active gossipers. “Myrtle’s been ranting on about someone tossing a small black book at her when she was wailing in self-pity.”

“What happened to the book?”

“Apparently Neville Longbottom has it now.”

Harry stared for a moment. “Hm, he stole a book that had been – how did you put it – tossed at the back of a ghost,” he said, not in the tone of a question, but a statement. “Typical drama in this school, I swear. Honestly? It wouldn’t surprise me if the book was a diary from some girl and Longbottom was using it to boost his own agenda, perhaps blackmail? Perhaps not, Gryffindors are, after all, far too pure for that.”

Ernie snorted, but it was forced. “I’m sure you know, but Myrtles bathroom is the one where the first attack took place… maybe this is related?” he said thoughtfully. “If anyone can figure this out, Harry, it’s you.”

Harry gave a faint smile. “I’ll go and have a look soon to see if I can uncover anything suspicious,” he said, giving Ernie a look that the boy didn’t understand. “I’m becoming what I tormented Weasley for.”

“What?”

“A detective,” said Harry, realising that Ernie didn’t understand. Of course not. “I’ll hope to bring justice to whoever attacked Ernie.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

Harry studied Ernie, realising that he looked a bit lethargic and slow. “Ernie,” he said softly, just loud enough for the boy to hear. “He’ll remain petrified until the Mandrake Restorative Draught is completed. Go and get some rest and eat something. Justin will be fine for a few hours while you’re looking after yourself. I mean it, you’re not less of a friend if you look after yourself. Time does not pass for those petrified, he will simply assume he napped.”

Ernie gave a slight nod and stood also, collecting his bags. He sent Justin a long glance before sweeping out of the room, shifting past Harry effortlessly. He began to walk at a moderate pace towards the Hufflepuff common room. He may be a pure-blood, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid of getting petrified.

Harry walked down the empty corridor, the sounds of his shoes clicking off the walls as he took each step. It was rather eerie with how quiet the castle seemed to be on a weekend. The castle felt like it had been deserted for centuries and he was the only person in it. That was false though, as there was people, a fair amount of them seeing as people moved in groups. He swept by a small group of girls, who halted their conversation and girlish giggling as he walked by. He scowled and continued onwards, not even bothered by the stupid girls who thought he wanted to eavesdrop on their pathetic conversations.

He stepped on the slightly cracked cobblestone floor of the castle and grimaced, wondering how long this floor had actually been cracked for. His eyes scanned the flooring for any signs of flooding and how found none, which he instantly thought of as odd. The stupid Squib caretaker, Filch, couldn’t have cleaned it up that fast so something else must have come along and done it. He would have noticed Filch out here with a mop, mopping up water, as it would have taken the Squib days to complete and despite almost every student avoiding this corridor due to superstitions, he wasn’t stupid.

He flicked his eyes up and down the corridor, waiting for something to happen that could startle him. He finally got his bearings together and slowly made his way towards the only bathroom in this corridor, which just so happened to be Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. He hated the idea that ghosts could lurk in bathrooms and the likes. It was nothing short of creepy and rather off putting.

He pushed open the door to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and winced as the door gave a loud creak, as he gently pushed it open. He had this sense of déjà vu of the situation, especially seeing as his mother had sent him a letter about these Muggle horror films that she used to watch. Lengthy and morbid detail of creaking doors and killers lurking behind them made him shiver.

It didn’t help that ghosts were real and there was a high chance that one was waiting for him before it dived on him with its wailing and other unpleasant sounds that Myrtle tended to make.

He stepped into the room slowly, closing the creaking door behind him as he tapped his chin, wondering how long it will take before Myrtle loses it and wails at him for being in here. He sniffed at the sheer thought and began to investigate the room, questioning in his mind why he agreed on becoming a wannabe detective.

Moaning Myrtle sat off to the side, hidden from view, her hands sitting under her chin as she watched the boy look around the bathroom. Her head tilted to the left when the boy began to touch the circular sink in the center of the room, he was the second person interested in the sink and that confused her. “I’m not sure why boys keep coming in here, this is a girls’ bathroom.”

Harry, who wasn’t startled at all by the sudden raspy voice, turned to face the ghost. “Perhaps I just wished to come in here and talk to you, Myrtle,” he said, his left shoulder lifting slightly. He did wonder if it was possible to make the ghost go away without a scene happening. Myrtle’s screaming and wailing was more headache inducing than Marcus Flint.

“No one ever comes in here to just speak with me!” said Myrtle, a slight wail threatening to enter her tone as she stared at the boy, her eyes locked on the boy. She flicked her hands from under her chin in a dramatic gesture. “Everyone comes in here to laugh at poor, moping, moaning, miserable Myrtle!” she lowered her voice, attempting imitate a student, which wasn’t hard. “Come in here, Olive, Myrtle is _crying_ again!”

“Have I laughed at you yet, Myrtle?” asked Harry, attempting to mask the smile that threatened to appear on his face at the pathetic imitation of a student. He was annoyed that a ghost dared to question his motives. “No, of course I haven’t. I heard that someone came in here and threw a book at you while you were upset and I just wanted to make sure that you were alright and to see if I could find anything.”

“Oh,” wailed Myrtle, her voice sounding somewhat broken. “So you’re not here to throw books at me?”

“That would damage the book, so no, I’m not here to throw priceless books at you, Myrtle,” said Harry as he tore his gaze away from the stupid ghost. He began circling the circular sinks in the center of the room with a curious expression on his face. “I heard from someone that you flooded this very bathroom, Myrtle… how?”

“I didn’t flood the room!” wailed Myrtle, she flew towards the boy, stopping a mere inch away from his body. “SURE, LET’S ALL JUST COME IN HERE AND BLAME MYRTLE!”

“No need to shout,” muttered Harry as he walked around the ghost. “I said that I heard that you flooded the room, not that you had. Judging by your robes, you were a Ravenclaw, therefore I’m surprised at your lack of intelligence.”

Myrtle sniffed.

“It would be impossible for you to turn on the taps,” said Harry, studying them. “Someone else flooded the room, most likely attempting to flush something down the toilet and when that failed they resorted to flooding the entire room.”

“But what did they wish to destroy so badly?” said Myrtle, her voice filled with some sort of tone that no one would be able to understand. Her transparent eyelashes fluttered.

“The book!” said Harry, almost growling at the sheer thought. “Some idiot tried to flush the book that they threw at you! Why? Why would they use that method instead of just burning it or turning it in?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry made a noise in his throat and twisted around towards the sink, his hands grasping tightly at the slightly dirty porcelain. “Someone else has that book now… Myrtle, do you know who came in here afterwards?”

“Gryffindors,” said Myrtle, sniffing. “That ginger boy made fun of me and that girl that is normally alongside them wasn’t around.”

“Curious,” said Harry, studying the room. “The person with the book at first attempted to submerge the book in the water, clueless that each book has an Impervious Charm on them to fend away water and spills of any kind.”

“Yes,” said Myrtle. “Only someone clueless –”

“A Muggle-born,” said Harry, ignoring Myrtle’s protest at being interrupted. “It has to be a clueless Muggle-born, perhaps it was Granger! That stupid beaver – no matter, no matter.”

Myrtle giggled at the name calling and floated downwards slightly.

“She didn’t come back because she would be recognised by you,” said Harry. “It all makes sense now.”

“That makes sense…”

Harry couldn’t figure anything else out and Nagini was being suspiciously quiet, too quiet for her usual self. “It was pleasant speaking to you, Myrtle,” he said, wondering what Nagini was plotting. “If Granger and her idiotic friends come by, scare them away.”

Myrtle looked delighted as she watched the boy retreat.


	24. Valentine’s Day

Chapter 24 – **Valentine’s Day**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 11/July/2016_

* * *

The snow melted over the weeks and slowly turned into mud, which caused Filch to mutter furiously under his breath about children and dirtying up the place with their shoes and careless attitude. The sun, which chose to appear today, shined weakly over the castle. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful and secure as the days progressed since the last attack. There had been no more attacks since Nearly Headless Nick and Justin.

Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.

Harry had his theory on these attacks, as people called them, and he had a few reasons for them. His first theory was simple and had a lot of flaws, but it was solid. He thought that the entire thing was a hoax and that the Chamber hadn’t been opened at all and that whoever did it was done with their joke now. Another was that the ‘attacker’ had simply lost their nerve. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious.

He stood outside the classroom for Transfiguration somewhat early, but not the first to arrive, going over his thoughts and theories on the attacks. He also thought that the attacker could have gone home during the Christmas holidays or didn’t attack as the pool of suspects would be considerably smaller.

“I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,” said Professor Lockhart, tapping his nose gently and winking at Minerva as if he held some sort of secret that only they knew. “I think – no believe – the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it would have been only a matter of time before I caught them.”

Harry fought to roll his eyes. Yes, the man was a genius and he believed that Lockhart was just playing the ‘dramatic’ style and was being obviously flamboyant in order to keep a stable image, one that he could and would maintain for a very long time. He watched the two professors and almost laughed at Professor McGonagall, who was almost quivering with rage, her lips pursed into a very fine line.

“– rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on them,” continued Professor Lockhart, he turned and gave the students that were lurking around in the corridor a large grin, showing every one of his white teeth in the process. “You know what this this school needs? It needs some sort of a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing.”

Professor McGonagall didn’t even bother to hide her displeased expression as she angrily opened the door and gestured the students inside, ignoring the chattering about Professor Lockhart. She was starting to believe that Severus was right and that man was nothing more than a fraud that was parading around in the school. “Merlin, that man could talk the head of a statue,” she said as she stood behind her desk. “He has wasted enough of our time! Please open your books to page fifty-four.”

Harry, disregarding Professor McGonagall’s orders, opened a different book and a different page and began reading. He frowned when the book was snatched from his grip and floated towards the professor, who began flicking through it the instant it had reached her. “Professor –”

“Mr. Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, cutting across the boy. “Would you kindly inform me why you’re not reading the required book? We’re reading the second-year Transfiguration book… not _this_.”

“How did you see through the glamour on my book, professor?” asked Harry, ignoring the irritated look on her face. He plastered a charming yet innocent look on his face and looked up at her. “I’ve already read that book, professor. In fact, I’ve read it four times.”

“Have you?”

“Yes,” replied Harry, grinning. “I thought I would read something more advanced why you taught the other students, that way I wasn’t interrupting the lesson. I was going to talk to you before class, but you were in a conversation with Professor Lockhart and it would have been rude of me to interrupt.”

Professor McGonagall studied the boy for a brief moment. She smiled for less than two seconds before it vanished and she sniffed, as if upset. “I see that my Transfiguration curriculum isn’t good enough for you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gave the professor a sheepish look, his head slightly tilted to the right. “Oh, no, professor!” he said, his tone sounding bored. “Your curriculum is rather good, if you ask me. The fact that you can teach Weasley, as well as you have, shows that people just how talented you are. I just require more knowledge and I like to read, so I quite often find myself ahead of everyone else.”

Professor McGonagall sent the book back towards Harry Potter, glamour charm still in place, with a blank expression. “If it’s not Lockhart, it’s you, Mr. Potter… today just isn’t destined to be a smooth experience,” she said, smiling. “You may read ahead, and that goes for all of you, just make sure you understand the previous material before moving on.”

* * *

The following month seemed as if went by in nothing but a quick blur, as if the entire world had apparated a month into the future, which was impossible. Harry did nothing but study and read all day, every day. He did slow down when Nagini became unbearable went into ‘mother hen’ mode and saw to it that her human was healthy.

“ **I don’t get headaches, Nagini** ,” hissed Harry, one hand gestured towards his head and the other the book. “ **I’m not getting a sore head from reading, like you think**.”

“ **Would you cut the dramatics, Youngling**?” hissed Nagini, a snake-like sigh came afterwards in the pause. Her head was resting on Harry’s stomach and the boy’s steady breathing was calming her. “ **Unless you’re not telling me the truth about what a headache actually is, then I believe that you’re getting them and it seems like it’s a very common and human thing**.”

Harry sighed and grumbled under his breath.

“ **Have you taken your potions that help aid with this sort of thing and rested properly**?” asked Nagini. “ **When I don’t feel like hunting, a nice nap tends to do me well**.”

“ **Of course I have, Nagini, I’m not a child** ,” hissed Harry, looking rather grumpy. Despite the fact that he had a dull throb just behind his left eye, which was driving him insane, he could see the humour in that statement. If he could see the humour in his own statement, then he was sure that Nagini would to and she would be the typical ‘serious snake’ that she is and comment on it seriously.

“ **You are a child, child** ,” hissed Nagini, displeased. “ **If I remember right for the first four years of your life you were incompetent, needing others to tend to you**.”

“ **Yes, but** –”

“ **Eight years later, you’re still hardly grown up, you may have an adult sized brain, but you are still a child, not yet ready to leave the nest**.”

Harry pursed his lips and chose to remain silent while Nagini finished her rant, which should tire her out and he could relax for a moment. He knew that Nagini wanted to have her own babies, so she was forcing her motherly tendencies on him.

“– **If one of my younglings tried to leave the nest before they were ready – oh they would get quite the lashing**!” continued Nagini, aware that Harry was half-listening, but that was good enough for her. “ **Even if we snakes do not use lashing as a punishment, what I have learned from you would be a very efficient method**.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “ **If you say so, Nagini**.”

Nagini’s head lifted up instantly, as if she was being insulted. “ **I do say so, youngling. I may not be able to do what you say other humans do, but if I hit you with my tail it would hurt**.”

“ **Of course, I wouldn’t like to be hit with your tail, Nagini** ,” replied Harry, rather lamely. He gave a long sigh and pushed his head against the wall, his pillow tossed across to the foot of his bed.

“ **I just realized that you lie, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini, pausing her movements. “ **You have had headaches before, you just normally instantly feel the effects and drink that liquid**.”

“ **Hush, Nagini, don’t prove me wrong**.”

Nagini made a sound of laughter and ducked her head under Harry’s chin, forcing him to stop hissing. “ **Be quiet, Youngling. It’s no wonder you have a headache, you love your own voice far too much**.”

* * *

Everyone had been anticipating what Professor Lockhart’s ‘morale-booster’ would be for the better half of the month, the gossip and anticipation had spread throughout the castle and people continuously chatted about what the glorious man could do to make them cheerful. He knew what exactly the man had planned the moment he stepped into the Great Hall on the fourteenth of February, better known as Valentine’s Day.

He hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night and this was just proving to be far too much to deal with, especially when he had lost himself in a Dark Arts book. He didn’t need people kissing or snogging, as they call it, in public. He winced as he glanced around the Great Hall. The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. He walked towards the Slytherin table, a scowl on his face. He didn’t even make it halfway before he was attacked by someone with something in their hands.

“Look, Potter, I got you some balloons,” said the tall boy, who was holding a few white and pink balloons. He flicked his spare hand through his messy light brown hair and grinned, attempting to flash a confident smile. “I would be so thrilled if you would take them, Potter, you’re leaving me hanging here and I’ll be the laughing stock if you deny me this.”

Harry’s eyes glanced towards the pink and white balloons, his facial expression slowly morphing from polite to being full of disdain and boredom. His eyes narrowed in on the brown-haired boy and his lips were pushed together tightly. He was seriously debating about just pulling out his wand and popping the balloons in the boy’s hands and then focusing on every other balloon in the Great Hall.

“Oh, you must be so embarrassed! It’s alright, Potter, I’m sure these lovely balloons will match your cute, little, pink cheeks,” said the boy, thrusting the balloons forwards. “Take the balloons, Potter, it’s my treat.”

“Shove. Your. Balloons.”

“Don’t clench your teeth like that, Potter, you may chip them,” said the boy, smiling. “Take ‘em.”

“No.”

“Please, Harry,” pleaded the boy, taking the green-eyed boy’s hand and tucking the string around his small wrist. “There you go, Harry.”

Harry still had his teeth clenched as he stared down the older boy. “What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Giving you balloons, silly,” said the boy. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Harry.”

Harry stared and bit the inside of his cheek. “Thank you, Vaisey, for the balloons,” he said, his tone sarcastic. This was more embarrassing than being seen with Weasley. “I didn’t get you anything for this spectacular _holiday_ , so I must apologise.”

“I like how you say my name,” said Vaisey, smiling. “And accepting my balloons is well enough for me, Harry.”

Harry just stared for a moment before giving off a smile, one that was fake, something that many people can do, but none perfect. He hated Valentine’s Day! It’s a day of disgrace! He always hated the idea of giving and receiving gifts. He would rather be alone and doing something productive, not sit around and fawning over people. “Is there anything else, Vaisey?”

“No,” said Vaisey, “but I must return to my friends. Bye, Harry.”

“Farewell,” said Harry, watching Vaisey’s back as he retreated towards the end of the Slytherin table. He stood still for a moment before he fled and made his way towards the Slytherin table, which was were Rosier and Theodore were sitting. He sat down at the table, the balloons that were tied to his wrist floated harmlessly over his head. “Don’t say a word, Theodore.”

“I wasn’t going to!” said Theodore, looking amused.

“Nice ball –”

“Shut it, Rosie.”

“No need to be so uppity because you got a Valentine’s Day present, Harry.”

Harry ignored them and glared at the table, ignoring the laughter from both of them. ‘Gits!’ he thought, wondering why the table wasn’t catching fire, which would at least be a distraction. Where was Quirrell with a troll? A Hurricane? Tornado? Something!

“Harry, look up at the professors! They look so angry with the events!”

Harry, choosing to believe Rosier, glanced upwards at the teachers’ tables, wondering what had made Rosier, the moron, so excited. What he saw was what nightmares were made up of. He was already seeing his dreams being plagued by this haunting material. His eyes locked onto Professor Lockhart first, who was wearing lurid pink robes to match the lurid decorations. He shuddered, even as the man waved for silence.

Professor McGonagall sent the man a glare that no one missed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” shouted Professor Lockhart, his voice carrying over the Great Hall. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and it doesn’t end here!”

The room broke out into excited chatter, apparently this was only the beginning. Anyone with sanity scowled and prayed that it would be nothing to extreme.

Professor Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the Entrance Hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. He had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

“Wait, are those real dwarfs?” asked Harry, whispering to Rosier. “How the –”

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Professor Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”

“How the hell did he get dwarfs to agree to this?” asked Harry, actually confused. “A dwarf would never agree to be used as a flying cupid delivering love letters! They hold grudges and slaughter goblins and orcs! I don’t understand!”

“Maybe Lockhart defeated them in battle and then they did this to be let free?” said Rosier sarcastically.

“That makes sense,” agreed Harry. “They’d bow to someone more powerful than them.”

“It was a joke!” said Rosier, looking rather displeased.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I honestly have no idea on why I got a gift for this pathetic holiday. Was I not cold and bitter enough last year to make people avoid me?” said Harry, confused. “I mean, people thought I was the heir of Slytherin, yet I get balloons! Why am I still the target of this disgraceful holiday?”

“You got one gift, Harry –”

“Don’t be so bitter, Harry,” said Blaise. “At least you’re getting gifts, a few girls haven’t gotten anything, and in fact you’re the first person to publically get a gift.”

“Well no one else better give me anything, these balloons are enough,” said Harry, scowling. “I was going to pop them, but then I realised that they may aid in keeping away other people who would dare give me gifts – if they think I already have a gift, they won’t bother. Genius plan, really, not that we should expect any less of what I think up.”

It wasn’t a genius plan, and that became apparent not even twenty minutes later. The only good thing that keeping the balloons on his person did was make him more approachable as he appeared to be less cold and unapproachable with a bunch of white and pink balloons. He was about point five seconds away from hexing the next person that dared approach him with a gift.

Rosier, who had taken it as his role, tagged alongside Harry, warning people away from Harry’s foul mood, claiming that he was just ‘overwhelmed by all the attention’ and that said boy would appreciate the gifts.

Harry, being the intelligent wizard he is, had attempted to destroy the balloons with a Stinging Hex, which failed. He realised that Vaisey had placed a copious amount of Unbreakable Charms on the balloons, which meant they couldn’t be popped, squashed, burnt or anything that extreme. He scowled when he realised that particular fact and not even his Stinging Hex rebounding and hitting Goyle in the back of the head made the scowl leave his face.

What really tipped the scale was when he learned that Vaisey had made the balloons stuck to his wrist for six hours.

He sat in Potions, the balloons still floating over his head, tied to his wrist, his face set in a scowl. The Balloons were hindering his ability slightly, not that it would be noticeable, but he knew that the irritation was harming his ability to prepare the ingredients into the fine, thin strips they should be.

Someone banged on the wooden door, causing the Gryffindor side of the room to instantly stop brewing and swivel in their seats to look at the commotion. The Slytherin side remained calm and focused, only because if they didn’t the already irritated Harry Potter would chew them out for it later on.

Harry turned in his chair when he was at a step that he could take a moment to catch his breath and regain his wits. He looked around and spotted a lone dwarf, hovering pitifully in the air, holding a few cards. The only reason he didn’t openly disrespect the dwarfs was because he was afraid of them and their eternal grudges that would be the end of him. He had done some studying over the years about magical creatures, namely: vampires, dwarfs, orcs, goblins, and elves, not house-elves, who were disgraced elves and cast out of their lands.

“Oy, is ‘Arry Potter here?”

Harry fought to not glare at the dwarf and shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat, ignoring the piercing gaze from Draco, who had been doing that since the day had started. He let out a defeated sigh, knowing that the dwarf wouldn’t give up until the letter was delivered as he would be disgracing his ‘tribe’ and would most likely be gutted when he returned – if he returned.

“I’ve got four cards for you,” said the rather grim looking dwarf, thrusting the letters towards the boy who he had tracked down by using the stares and pointing from the other humans. “Here you are.”

‘Please don’t let it be one of those musical messages that others have gotten,’ thought Harry, taking the letters, tucking them inside his diary. ‘Balloons and cards are enough, if not too much, I don’t need some untalented brute trying to sing.’

“I am tired, absolutely tired, of you dunderheads and your pathetic and miserable love interests disrupting my lesson!” snapped Professor Snape, his outburst shocking no one, in fact, many were waiting for it. “If half of you would grow a backbone and deliver them in _person_ instead of using a magical creature to do it for you, the people _may_ take your request seriously! Salazar would be blessed if an impudent student actually behaved once in a while and used this pivotal time in their lives efficiently and not on petty schoolyard crushes.”

Harry listened in amusement as Professor Snape scolded the entire class in his usual scathing tone, one that would make many students begin to tear up and shake as he directed his hateful gaze at them.

“The next person to get a card is having it read out to the entire class, no matter what.”

The room drew silent, students not daring to breath and silent pleas in their heads that no one would be foolish enough to write a love letter to them was repeated through the minds of most students, mainly the boys, not wanting to be embarrassed by girls.

Harry fingered the cards in his hand and wondered whether burning them one by one would be more satisfying than just burning the lot of them in a huge pile. He could even throw in Vaisey’s balloons. He bottled his potion and slowly made his way towards the irate Potions Master, who was seething, and handed him the potion that he had been working on. He didn’t expect anything less than an ‘Outstanding’ for it and he would be surprised if Professor Snape even bothered to grade it. He could hand up a bottle of water and get full marks for it.

The bell rang and the second-years in Potions scrambled to bottle their potions and get out of the class, not wanting to draw the ire of Professor Snape.

“Oy, you!” said a familiar voice of the dwarf that had just left the Potions classroom. “I’ve got a musical message to deliver to Neville Longbottom in person.”

Harry froze, staring at the dwarf, who was coming towards him. He let out a sigh of relief when the dwarf said Longbottom’s name and not his, but you can never be too sure about these things. Dwarfs are sneaky and will often use the wrong names to get you to stop so they can corner you. You don’t win fourteen wars and be stupid.

Neville turned a vibrant shade of red as he glanced around the corridor, searching for the voice that called his name. “Not here,” he whispered, catching the eye of the dwarf.

Neville turned a shade of red, he glanced around. “Not here!” He whispered at the dwarf, aware of the gathering crowd.

“Stay still!” said the dwarf, grunting as it attempted to latch onto the robe of the student.

“Let me go!”

“I said stay still and let me give you this!” said the dwarf, his tone angry. He released the clump of robe and snatched the boy’s book bag, which gave him a better hold and yanked the boy back towards him when he made to run.

Neville’s eyes widened comically as the strap that was around his neck jolted towards the hovering dwarf, the strength of the creature startling him more than the sudden pull. “Let go off my bag!” he said, angrily. He gave a harsh tug on his bag, hoping to dislodge the dwarf’s fingers or something so he could escape this situation. He heard a very soft ripping noise. He regret the next tug that he gave. A loud ripping noise filled the corridor, and to his horror, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over the lot. He scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a hold-up in the corridor.

“What’s going on?” asked Draco as he strode up the corridor, a few steps behind everyone else. He eyed Harry for a moment before his grey eyes switched towards the scene with Longbottom and that dwarf.

“What’s all this commotion?” asked Percy Weasley as he arrived, glancing around at the scene, his eyes snapping between the dwarf and Neville.

Neville was done with this, he tried to get up from the floor, grabbing his bag in the process. He thought he would be able to make a run for it, which was a good plan, until he saw that the dwarf had seized him.

“Right,” said the dwarf, uncaring about all the attention that had been gathered around them. He paused dramatically before continuing on. “Here is your singing Valentine.”

The crowd leaned forwards in anticipation, the second through to fifth-years were all present, as if they had a little notification on whether Neville Longbottom would get embarrassed on a particular day.

The dwarf cleared his throat, dramatically, preparing to repeat the singing Valentine, which he did so, in his most dramatic, and off tune voice he could manage.

“His eyes are as brown as freshly tended soil,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard,

I really wish he was mine, he’s so divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

The corridor remained silent for a moment, the sound of laughter trying to be surpassed filled the corridor which started off all the other students, who started with a snicker before it morphed into a chuckle. Some students were so far gone that they had been into fits of full-blown laughter since it started.

Neville attempted to laugh along, but failed miserably, instead his face went bright red.

“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” said Percy, trying his best to disperse the crowd, he waved towards a few lingering first-years. “Potter, Malfoy that also includes the both of you.”

Draco ignored it and scooped up a black diary that resembled Harry’s, for a moment he wondered If Harry had dropped his and then realized that the world would end if Harry ever even slightly destroyed a book.

“Give that back.”

“Wonder what you’ve written in this, Longbottom?” said Draco, not noticing the date or name on the cover, instead he was focusing more on taunting Longbottom. He embraced the hush that fell over the students, missing the concerned look between Ginny and the diary.

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly, still urging students to move along to their classes.

“After I have a look, Weasley,” said Draco, waving the book tauntingly at Longbottom, he was about to open it when he heard a hiss from Harry, of course it came from the snake and not his friend, but it caused a pause that made him drop the book. He was furious when he realized Neville already had the book back in his bag, instead he turned to Ginny Weasley and sneered. “I don’t think Longbottom liked your Valentine much!”

Harry watched as Ginny Weasley retreated with her hands covering her face, a soft sob escaped her lips as she ran into her class. He couldn’t help but realised she looked slightly healthier since the incident that caused Myrtle’s bathroom to flood. His eyes were focused on that book, even as he watched Longbottom retreat, his eyes locked onto his bag. He would get that book.

* * *

Harry eventually opened and read all the cards that he had received on Valentine’s Day, much to the amusement of Rosier and Theodore, who had blatantly ignored him and went and retrieved Blaise to join in. The balloons that he had received from Vaisey were hung on his bedside table, somehow they had been placed there and would last quite a while, not that it bothered him, but he needed to make up appearances and make Rosier and Theodore believe that the balloons annoyed him.

Twenty-seven cards. He had received twenty-seven cards on a single day, almost one card per hour. He was confused on why he received cards at all, especially with most of them being from boys, if the names on the back of the cards were correct. A few girls sent him cards, nothing as cringe worthy as the one that Ginny Weasley sent Longbottom.

There was a few cards that he had actually enjoyed and smiled as he read them. One was from Justin and promptly stated that it was a friendship Valentine and that he had no romantic feelings. Of course, the card was unfinished and the writing stopped abruptly after the small essay from Justin, explaining his life so far. Ernie had explained that Justin would have wanted him to have it, unfinished or not.

He was sure that someone was behind these cards that had been given on Valentine’s Day, as well as the balloons. He had never spoken to half of these people, especially Vaisey, who was a reserve on the Quidditch team. It hardly made sense that he would get so many when he wasn’t what the girls called ‘hot’ or ‘cute’, nor was he that handsome. A lot of those were most likely because he was blessed by fate and he still had this childlike appearance, meaning he would age gracefully and look younger when he was really much older. Of course, he was called cute a fair amount of times, but cheek pinching usually came after that.

It didn’t help that Nagini saw this as some strange things humans did and suggested that he ask one of them to be his nest-mate. This caused a rather awkward conversation to begin.

“ **If they are sending you peace offerings, Youngling, then it’s likely that they wish for you to give them hatchlings** ,” hissed Nagini, sounding rather amused. “ **They wish to move into your nest and begin a family**.”

“ **I’m twelve, Nagini, and these people are like fifteen and above**!” replied Harry, sounding very much like the child he is. “ **I don’t want them to be my nest-mate… or whatever it is that you call it**.”

“ **You will in time, I can assure you** ,” said Nagini. “ **I give it a few months and you’ll be in a nest of your own**.”

“ **Most humans tend to stay at home for seventeen years before they leave and get a place of their own** ,” hissed Harry, using knowledge of the average age that wizards left home. Of course there were a few wizards that stayed at home until thirty and some that never left. “ **So five years of me having no nest-mate, Nagini**.”

“ **Be quiet, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini in annoyance. “ **Just for that, you must spend time stroking my head – yes right there, that’s the good place – keep going, youngling**.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sued his spare hand to prop open a book. He slowly shifted it towards him so he could read the words easily while he stroked Nagini’s scales. “ **I hope you don’t mind me multi-tasking**.”

“ **As long as you don’t stop paying attention to me completely, I don’t care what you do, youngling** ,” replied Nagini truthfully. “ **But that book earlier today, you must be careful around that, it tasted wrong**.”

“ **You mean Longbottom’s book**?” hissed Harry. “ **Well, the book that he picked up of the flooded ground**.”

“ **Yes, that book** ,” replied Nagini. “ **The book tasted much like you do when you sleep for a while**.”

“ **What do you mean, it tasted like me**?” replied Harry instantly, his brows furrowed in confusion. “ **I don’t understand how I can smell like a book**.”

“ **That was the best way I could describe it, youngling** ,” hissed Nagini, dropping her head. “ **If you can get that book, I may be able to get a better scent on it**.”

“ **You’re encouraging me to get a book that smells odd to you**?” replied Harry, unsure of what Nagini actually wanted him to do. “ **Like, you want me to –”**

“ **Take the book, yes, youngling. I want you to take the book, and make it yours**.”

“ **Alright –** ”

“ **But do not open it or even look at it until I can see it, it could be dangerous**.”

Harry nodded and focused entirely on his book, it was rather interesting but he doubted that the knowledge would be useful at all, it seemed as if he was reading it just so he had something to read. Without doing something he would get antsy and then get angry, being bored wasn’t a good thing for him. Of course he had Draco, Rosier, Theodore and the two unresponsive goons to keep him occupied recently. The two towering goons may lack intelligence, but they often did entertaining things.

“Harry, glad to see that you’re not re – you’re reading, of course,” said Theodore as he walked into the dormitory. “I’m glad that your balloons are still up, they make the room more vibrant.”

“You have five seconds to tell me what you want or I’ll hit you with the most powerful Stinging Hex I can muster,” said Harry, ignoring the boy’s attempts to drive him insane. “I cannot pop the balloons and it appears as if they’re stuck now.”

“Vaisey is gifted in Charms,” said Theo, staring at the balloons. “According to Professor Flitwick, Vaisey will go far in that line of work.”

“Can we not speak about Vaisey?” suggested Harry, his eyes narrowed. “I swear you’re almost as bad as Blaise, I swear it’s like you two plan to come in and harass me about him. He gave me some balloons, who cares?”

Theodore snorted and glanced at Harry with a knowing look in his eyes. “Fine, but this topic isn’t done, people in the common room are talking – they think you and him are – dating, I guess would be the word to call it.”

Harry made a disgusted sound in his throat before he closed his curtains. “The rumours that are spread around this common room worse than it is in Hufflepuff, and that’s saying something,” he decided in that moment that his book was far more interesting than a conversation about Vaisey with Theodore.

“Don’t be like that, Harry,” said Theodore, shuffling towards the irate green-eyed boy’s bed. “I’m far more interesting than your book that you have probably read three times already.”

“I have read this book twice, Theodore,” replied Harry, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. “Only twice, Theodore, this is my third reading and believe it or not, you’re distracting that.”

Theodore grumbled under his breath, complaining about Slytherins being bookish and how that was a Ravenclaw trait. He had to word it right so that Harry didn’t burst out screaming ‘knowledge is power’ as he tended to do when you made books or reading seem like nothing but importance. He made his way towards his trunk, still grumbling, and opened it. He dug around in it and pulled out a thin book which was covered in dark blue and silver. He fled the room after that, wondering if Harry ever talked to his pet snake as Millicent did with her cat.

Harry groaned when he heard the hoot of an owl. Muttering under his breath, he angrily threw open the green hangings around his bed in search of the owl that was intent on not allowing him to read. He saw the owl sitting on his dresser, its head tilted to the side, a small letter attached to its leg. He knew that the beast would get annoyed if he didn’t run across the room at superhuman speed and detach the letter from its leg.

It serves the impatient thing right if it had to wait a bit longer.

He took the letter from the owl’s leg and watched as it hooted at him and then took flight back up the small pipe. He held the letter in his hands for a moment before sighing and dragging his feet towards the nearby desk, hoping that the letter was at least small and not an essay on small things that he didn’t care about.

He flicked the letter over and studied the slightly messy writing that spelt out his name, his entire name. There was a seal that closed the letter, but it was already slightly broken and indecipherable. That was a nice hint that the person who sent it forgot to add something and re-opened it.

_Dear Harry,_

_Please read this letter fully before you judge it – hold your opinion until you have read it and then you may judge it as you may. I need you to understand how far down I’m trying to reach in my own heart to pass off a genuine, caring letter to you. Some things just cannot be said in person, you know that._

_I cannot say that I had an easy life, even as a kid, despite what people thought. My parents wanted another child, but they simply waited far too long and couldn’t have another, despite the fact that wizards and witches live double the age of Muggles. They both decided that I deserved everything and they simple gave me that. I could do no wrong in their eyes and it made me such a brat when I went to Hogwarts, still feeling as if I could do no wrong._

_I doubt you wish to hear about my life, let alone in letter form._

_I did try, Harry, to give you everything you needed without spoiling you unnecessary. I still, to this day, get in trouble by Lily for buying you a broom when you were one and that it was foolish and dim-witted of me to do it._

_I wanted the world to be safe for you, Harry, You-Know-Who (Merlin, I hate calling him that) was a pest before you were born and I didn’t want any of his Death Eaters to come after you – if their master was attacking children, I was sure they would._

_I wanted to give you everything, Harry, anything and everything. I thought I had, to be honest. Somewhere along the lines I must have failed in that and you picked up on it. In my eyes I had succeeded in giving you everything you desired, but in yours, I clearly failed in that aspect and that’s very hard for me to understand because I did everything that I could to make you happy. Everything that I tried to do for you seemed to push you away from me, straight into the arms of Lily, not that I mind that you love your mother, it’s a good thing! I don’t mean small things like meals and your favourite food, either, you generally started to dislike anything I did for you._

_At one stage I did debate taking you to work with me. I was so sure that you would have loved what I did at work, even if we had to remain in the boring parts of the Ministry. I was so certain that you would have enjoyed every second there, seeing all the amazing magic and flying paper planes. The issue is that you would have analysed everything, things that most people wouldn’t have ever asked or wondered about. I could make one hundred excuses and you would be able to counter them instantly, without thought. It wasn’t pleasant being outsmarted by your son who is a fraction of your age. It was highly intimidating that you knew so much at such a young age._

_I’ll be blunt about this. I was, in some sense, afraid of you, Harry, afraid of how smart and perceptive you were – you are! You inherited the good looks of the Potters, the amazing ability to fly, as if you were born on a broom and various other traits of the Potters, except for the somewhat poor eyesight and messy hair._

_I didn’t read my first book until I was seven, and that was nothing but a small children’s book, mainly full of pictures. By that age, you had already raided Lily’s bookcase and started reading her books._

_Lily was always better with you than I was, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love you any less, I loved you so much that I learned that you were far to intelligent for me, Harry. Even now, I’m sure that you’ll accomplish things that I couldn’t do at a much younger age than normal. The only accomplishment I have is becoming an Animagus while in my fifth-year. I’m sure you’ll have that done in your third-year. I feel so inadequate around you, I cannot teach you anything._

_I was scared when you were sorted into Slytherin, as you should have gone into Gryffindor, even if you had Slytherin qualities. I thought that you weren’t my son, you look more like Sirius than me… I thought that you weren’t my son… and I apologize for that, it’s a horrid thought… I just thought… I sent Sirius a picture of you, and he said the same thing, except that you resembled Regulus (his brother) more than him, I had no idea what to do, Harry. It’s an excuse you will just laugh at, but I know you’re my son, it just doesn’t feel like you are… we are so different._

_I don’t regret anything I have done, and I would do it all again in another lifetime. Maybe in a few years you grow to accept that I did everything for you, I chose the path I did for you and I stand by it. You may dislike me now, but you won’t always dislike me, and I’m sure we will be able to cross the bridge._

_James._

Harry read the letter twice before tossing it onto his bed, a frown on his face. He stared at the letter with disdain. ‘How can he sit there and blame me for his faults? How can he say that it’s my fault that everything happened how it did?’ he thought as he glanced at the letter. ‘How can you be scared of your son’s intelligence? What a weak excuse. What did he want? An idiot for a son? A son like Longbottom?’

He knew that getting so worked up over a letter was pointless and a waste of time, especially when he had things that he needed to do. Like write his mother and thank her for the chocolate chip cookies that she had baked and sent along. He ate them all, deciding that he didn’t see the small note about sharing them.

He couldn’t blame James for the poor attempt of a letter, no matter how much he wanted to. He knew that his mother proofread all letters so that her husband didn’t make himself out to be an idiot, which he managed to do daily. As much as it pained him, but if his mother ever passed on, James would be probably be as functional as a corpse.

He pushed from his own bed, with a quick dig into his trunk he picked out his pyjamas and dashed for the boys’ lavatory to get changed.

He slipped back into his bed and pulled the blankets over his body. He picked up his book and waited for Nagini to reposition herself in a new place to get some warmth, seeing as he had disrupted her sleep when he got up. He flicked the book to the page that he was on before this whole ordeal had started and began to lose himself in a good few hours of reading before he had to wake up and think whether James deserved a reply or not.

He noted the fact that he signed his name as _James_ instead of _love from_ , or _father_. Honestly, that said it all, and he already debated whether sending a reply would even be read or if replying to it was buying into James’ excuses. It was an internal debate that lasted a while. In the end, he decided that he would simply say the letter was lost and he never got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly just realised that I do so much subliminal James bashing. I was reading back this chapter, at two in the morning, mind, and I realised through my tired eyes that I was rather fond of attacking James and making him out to be the bad guy. Meh. I won’t make a habit out of it.
> 
> As for the dwarves, I dislike how J.K did them – so I’m changing them up a little bit and you’ll learn a bit about them later on.


	25. The Other Black Book

Chapter 25 – **The Other Black Book**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 25/July/2016_

* * *

Harry hadn’t found any good chances over the weeks to snatch the diary from Longbottom, despite his countless attempts to snag it during classes. He was getting rather decent at swiping things from pockets. He had lost count on the times that he had swiped Rosier’s wand without the boy even noticing.

He had overheard a bit of juicy information in the corridor today, as he was passing by slowly. He had overheard that Longbottom was going to visit the oaf today, straight after Quidditch practice. Longbottom had then said that he would deposit his bag and stuff in his dormitory before leaving, that way he didn’t have to lug it around the castle.

It was perfect, at least in Harry’s eyes. He would have plenty of time to sneak into the second-year boys’ Gryffindor dormitory and grab the book and flee before anyone knew he was there. He was a Slytherin and had an adequate plan, one which he had perfected over the days. Thanks to James, he had already been in the Gryffindor common room before, so he knew where it was and the general layout of the common room.

Part one of his goal to get the diary was already completed, of course, but he had planned to get Longbottom away from the Gryffindor common room for an extended period of time. Where Longbottom went, Weasley followed.

Part two was currently underway and he was rather stuck on a way to get inside the common room without getting held up by the Fat Lady. He knew the password, but she wouldn’t let him in because he was a Slytherin. He did debate about stealing a robe from the laundry room, but debated against that.

Part three was to simply steal the diary and escape. He did debate whether leaving a riddle for Longbottom.

He frowned as he suddenly realised that he had another obstacle to overcome. The Weasley twins seemed to know exactly where he was at any given time. He had tested the theory and spent a few minutes lurking near the Gryffindor common room for a few days and sure enough, the Weasley twins began to cut him off whenever they could. Thankfully they had Quidditch practice with Longbottom and wouldn’t be an issue, but their tracking was an issue.

A thought hit him as he thought about the letter that James had sent him. He remembered that James liked to brag about the things that he created in school. The countless pranks, the quill that would copy the lectures from the professors and finally, his most prized creation: the Marauders Map.

Had the Weasley twins been able to recreate the supposed destroyed map created by James? As much as he hated to admit it, James was very talented and was a powerful wizard. He sniffed and twirled his wand in his hand, the tip almost connecting with his forearm as he did so.

He closed his diary, even though he was reluctant to call it a diary, it was such a girl thing to say, and tucked it into his trunk, just next to the Dark Arts books, which were covered in the invisibility cloak, which he would need shortly. He did debate whether he should inform Draco or not, he had promised and he didn’t want to break his promise to his best friend, but this wasn’t anything major. He could lie and claim that he saw Longbottom drop it in the corridor and he picked it up or that he swiped it when Longbottom was in the library.

He rubbed his chin as he thought about Draco’s recent behaviour. The boy had been snappish at anyone who tried to speak to him. It had been that way since Valentine’s Day and he just couldn’t put his finger on why his best friend was being so snappish.

He sat there in silence for a few moments, debating whether or not he should tell Draco. He huffed and decided against it. In his eyes, it was the safest option as no questions could be asked, nor would any feelings be hurt if it went badly. He could just tell a little white lie and then be done with it, Draco would never find out.

* * *

Harry made sure that he had hidden the invisibility cloak in his robes, making sure not even a slight bump was present. He strode out of the dormitory and into the common room, ignoring everyone present. He had an alibi prepared for the day, and that was that he had been in the Slytherin common room all day and no one would contest it. After all, Professor McGonagall had set a lengthy essay and everyone knew that he would have been spending most of the day doing it.

He took the steps up towards the seventh-floor, grinning when he realised the steps weren’t out to kill him this time. His right foot landed on the top of the stairs and he grinned even more, knowing that he was so close to getting what he wanted. He wrapped the invisibility cloak around him and leant against the wall, waiting for another student to either exit or enter the Gryffindor common room. He glared at the portrait of the Fat Lady, hoping the painting would open up soon.

He was about ready to give up and trying to say the password in a different sounding voice to his own when the portrait swung open and Ginny Weasley stepped out, a huge grin on her face. He watched as the girl twisted on the spot, turning to face the freckled boy that had followed her out.

“Ginny, wait!”

“Seamus?”

The freckled boy huffed a little before lifting himself up a bit more. “Neville has Quidditch practice, he’ll be back in an hour or so,” he said, smiling at the first-year. “I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind, I wanna watch the practice.”

Ginny gave a soft sigh. “Alright, come on!” she said angrily, as if it was a chore. “I have things I need to do, for Ron.”

‘She is so uppity that she makes Draco look normal,’ thought Harry as he slipped into the Gryffindor common room, only just managing to not get squished in the portrait as it closed. He weaved around Percy Weasley, who tensed the moment he heard light footsteps. He rubbed his chin and breathed softly through his nose, unsure about how he should deal with this particular Weasley.

Percy studied the first-years with a critical eye, making sure they passed inspection before he allowed them to leave the common room. He was glad that Seamus went with his sister, she didn’t need to be walking around alone, especially with Slytherin’s heir still on the loose.

Harry scratched his cheek and shifted next to Percy, near the first-years. He whispered a curse word and smiled when Percy rounded in the first-years, accusing them of using such foul profanity. During the distraction, he slipped into the area that lead to the dormitories. He had no idea whether the boys’ was up or down, he knew the stairs had charms on them to stop boys going into the girls’ dormitories, but not the other way around. He took his chances and went up, hoping that the stairs would not turn into a slide and send him sliding downwards.

“Be quiet, I’ll be right back!” snapped a sandy-haired boy, he stood at the top of the stairs. “Honestly, you women drive me absolutely bonkers.”

“Keep talking, David, it makes up for your less than appealing looks,” said the brown-haired girl, following her boyfriend down the stairs. “Sometimes I have no idea why I even bother to date you, you’re worse than that Slytherin prick. You can be such an immature prat at the worst of times.”

“Mm.”

“That all you got to say?” said the girl, glaring. “Maybe you’ve finally learned to shut up, eh?”

“Nag, nag, nag,” said David. “Sometimes I wonder why I decided to date you and not your quieter sister, who would have been happy to be my girlfriend and not act like a spoilt child over small things.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, _dear_ ,” said David, narrowly avoiding the hand that swooped towards his face.

Harry rolled his eyes as the arguing drew quieter and quieter over the seconds, the arguing couple vanishing out of earshot range. While it was rather interesting to listen to people argue as you learned so much about them in heated conversations, he had a book to find.

He took the creaky stairs one at a time, not wanting to draw any attention to himself as he climbed them. He was sure to remain as silent as possible and remain vigilant, not wanting to be exposed. He knew that Longbottom, Weasley and Finnigan weren’t present, but there was another boy that he had no idea about.

He stepped into what he presumed was the second-year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory and pushed open the door, it opened with a gentle creak and he poked his invisible head into the room. He let out a long winded sigh and a breath of relief when he realized the room was empty. His eyes scanned the trunks located at the end of each bed and finally found Longbottom’s trunk, it took all but seven seconds to find, the large N.L on the top in gold lettering was a dead give-away. He walked up to the trunk and knelt in front of it, studying it cautiously, his hands tucked directly at his side. He forced everything from his mind and focused solely on Longbottom’s trunk.

He felt no locking spells surrounding the trunk and he snorted. Overly trusting Gryffindors.

He bit his lip, stopping himself from swearing at the trunk, which meant that Longbottom had it elsewhere. He stood and glanced around the room, wondering why Longbottom would leave it in the open, of course the thought was stupid, he was a Gryffindor, and none of the other Gryffindors would dare read another person’s book. He walked around to the desk near Longbottom’s bed and flicked around in it, shifting around quills, half-completed work and of course a few inkpots. He picked up the half-completed essay for Potions and snorted, it was terrible, badly written and a few things were wrong, it would be an Acceptable at best, if Professor Snape was feeling generous.

Lifting up and placing down books is what he had spent the next ten minutes doing, especially around Longbottom’s area. Of course he had a huge feeling that the book wasn’t here and his plans were ruined before he had even started. For a brief moment he thought about how Weasley acted, she was suspicious for most of this year, looking rather sickly, and her eyes mostly vacant of emotion. He pondered it as he dug around the dormitory, his hunt proving to be less than successful, in fact the only highlight was that couple arguing.

He gave up trying to be neat in his searching, instead he began to tear through everything, not using magic in case a professor comes and notices it. He hurled clothes, quills, parchments and inkpots across the room, but placed the books aside carefully, even if they were Weasley’s book, they were still books. He let out a long winded sigh and knelt back down once more in front of Longbottom’s trunk, he gently opened it and what he saw was what he was looking for, the little black book, very similar to his. His fingers gently ran over the cover and he grabbed it, tucking it under his robes. He closed the trunk and heard someone rushing up the stairs. He froze and edged backwards, standing near Finnigan’s bed.

Ginny Weasley entered the room, her red-hair flying in odd directions as she looked for a certain bed. She walked, or nearly ran, towards Neville Longbottom’s bed and began to search for the book. When she couldn’t find it, she got desperate and began to tear at Neville’s bed, ripping apart the newly made bed. Pillows and clothes were tossed around, those that were neatly folded on the end of Longbottom’s bed were no longer neatly folded, instead all tangled up on the ground.

Harry listened as the girl huffed, throwing around things and then finally dug into Longbottom’s trunk, the Gryffindor in that girl was so obvious that she couldn’t pass off as anything else. He winced as books were thrown, landing harshly on the ground, pages had rips and a few pages on a book came out. He wanted to fix the book, just seeing them in that condition was agitating him. He watched calmly as the girl tore from the room, and not even three minutes later Finnigan came in and gasped at the sight of the room.

Seamus stood still for a moment before spinning around in a circle and turning from the wall, finally spotting Neville. “Neville – I don’t know who did it. I just found –” he carefully opened the door to their dormitory and stood near the wall, his eyes still as wide as they were when he saw the room. “The room like this,” he finished, almost a full minute after he had started speaking.

Harry watched as Neville looked around the room, mainly at his own bed. There was some glee on his face about seeing the boy so defeated looking. It was oddly pleasing and he was glad that he was still here to witness it.

Neville walked a little closer to his trunk. The contents had been thrown everywhere. A cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress. He walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of _Travels with Trolls_. He began to pull the blankets back with Finnegan’s help.

Ron and Dean came in moments later, witnessing Neville and Seamus holding up sheets. Dean’s eyes looked at the room and then he swore rather loudly, not even bothering to act like it was an accident. “What happened, Neville?”

“I have no idea, Dean,” replied Neville, he really did have no idea what had happened in the dormitory.

“Bloody hell!” swore Ron, digging through Neville’s robes, which all had their pockets turned out, the material poking out slightly. “Someone’s been looking for something.”

‘No joke,’ thought Harry, grinning.

Ron sent Neville a look. He dropped the robes and sat down on Neville’s bed. “Is there anything missing?”

Neville started to pick up all his things, lazily, and threw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it that he realised what wasn’t there. “Riddle’s diary’s gone!” he said in an undertone to Ron.

Harry looked down at the harmless looking black diary which belonged to Riddle, could it be T. M. Riddle? The same person who sent him the Dark Arts books? He debated it for a moment before he glanced up, ready to move from the room. All he needed was an opening.

Ron paled slightly, his eyes fell straight onto Neville. “What? Are you sure?”

Neville jerked his head towards the dormitory door and Ron followed him out, unaware of the invisible person following closely behind. They hurried back down to the Gryffindor common room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called _Ancient Runes Made Easy_.

Hermione looked aghast at the news. “But – only a Gryffindor could have stolen – nobody else knows our password!”

“Exactly!” said Neville, looking more upset than he did moments ago. Knowing that a Gryffindor had stolen something really put him down.

Harry slowly crept towards the portrait hole, waiting for someone to barge in and allow him to leave before the Gryffindors had a group meeting or something as stupid as that and made him spend all night here. It had been many years since he was so eager to actually read something, as if he would just sit down on the ground and open the book. ‘Maybe its Riddles own personal notes on the dark arts books? Much like I did in my own diary,’ he thought as he inched closer and closer towards the portrait hole.

He was getting antsy, the more Granger spoke, the worse the feeling was. His hand opened and clenched, the one holding the diary stayed perfectly still, a moderately tight grip on the diary. He did admire the Muggle-born’s intelligence, for someone that suffered by losing out ten years of knowledge and had to learn most of it in a month before coming to Hogwarts, she did well. But the know-it-all side of Granger annoyed him so much. Books were a great source of knowledge, the best, but reciting the book taught you nothing. Granger just read the books and recited what she read for answers. He wasn’t surprised that a few professors removed points from her essays for it.

“Hello, Hermione – whoa, what’s going on?” said Ginny as she walked into the common room, unaware that someone had just slipped out.

Hermione gave a half-smile towards Ginny and gestured her to come over. “Someone, a Gryffindor, broke into Neville’s room and stole something,” she said sadly, as if all the trust in the world had been broken. “A diary in fact. We know that it was a Gryffindor, mainly due to the fact no one has our password.”

Ginny let out a gasp as she listened. “That’s horrible! Why would – why would a Gryffindor steal another Gryffindors diary?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Ron, his eyes wide. “It makes no sense, I bet a Slytherin snuck in here and stole it.”

“Ron, how would a Slytherin get our password?” said Hermione, her hips on her hips, as if she did it daily. “Not everything that is considered bad is done by a Slytherin.”

Ginny ignored the minor argument with almost practiced ease. Growing up in a house with six other boys and then your parents, it allows you to tune things out. “I didn’t know you kept a diary,” she said innocently.

Neville couldn’t hold Ginny’s eyes, a gesture that would have had his gran foaming at the mouth at his lack of care for politics. “Well, Ginny, it wasn’t mine, you see,” he said, his tone just above a whisper that carried only towards those that needed to hear it. “I don’t keep a diary. It belonged to someone else, someone named T. M. Riddle.”

“Oh,” said Ginny, staring at Neville.

“I learned a few interesting things from the diary,” said Neville, oblivious to the look of horror on Ginny’s face. “Someone must’ve assumed it was mine and they’ve taken it. We have to find it!”

Ginny’s concerned expression could easily be mistaken for finding the diary, but it was about something else completely, something much worse. Neville had spoken to Tom! She had an idea, but didn’t like to use it was it was rather low and her brother would instantly agree with it, no matter what. “I saw Malfoy interested in it, maybe he stole it?”

“Ginny’s right!” said Ron, the moment his mind heard her say ‘Malfoy’ and ‘diary’ in the same sentence. “He was interested in it that time in the corridor, right? Maybe he wants it to do – I don’t know, but something!”

Hermione let out a long sigh, only just managing to not roll her eyes in disbelief. “Ron, Malfoy only wanted the diary because he assumed that it belonged to Neville. I highly doubt that he would have made it up here, undetected, and found his way into your dormitory, stealing the diary,” she said, huffing. “Let’s not forget that nothing else was stolen or sabotaged –”

“But it’s Malfoy!”

“You’re giving him too much credit, mate.”

Hermione’s head swivelled around so fast to glare at Neville that she was amazed it didn’t crack. “You’re all as bad as each other,” she said. “It all doesn’t add up, Neville, it just doesn’t… maybe we should just go to Professor Dumbledore?”

Neville sighed. “Hermione, we tried that last year and it didn’t work, no one believed us.”

“We didn’t put up a fight, Nev,” said Ron, looking conflicted. “We kinda just took what Professor McGonagall said and left it at that…”

“That was rather smart of you, Ron,” said Hermione, looking impressed. “Ron is right, though, we didn’t put up a fight and we ran at the fear of losing more points for Gryffindor. We’re ahead currently, despite all losses, so I’m sure we could convince Professor Dumbledore about it.”

“So what do we say, Hermione? We cannot just walk up to Dumbledore and say that we found it when we should have turned it in instantly.”

“Yes, but –”

“And that’ll just make us look worse,” said Neville. “The only thing we can do is hope that it turns up again, and then we can deal with it then.”

Ginny was thrilled when her brother, Hermione and Neville missed the look of glee on her face. She would get that diary before any of them could know any more of what they had written in it. Ron was already looking at her strangely, as if he knew something that he shouldn’t.

“Ginny, are you alright?” asked Neville, noticing that the girl had blanked out and was staring at Ron.

“Oh,” said Ginny, giving Neville a smile that should have helped ease the concern. “I was thinking about the diary and where it could’ve been taken to. Anyway, I’ve got to talk to Fred and George.  Please let me know if you come up anything with the diary… I’ll keep an eye out.”

Neville watched as she gave a large smile and walked happily towards the twins, who appeared to be scheming about something, a piece of parchment in their hands. “I figured out who opened the Chamber of Secrets the last time, fifty years ago,” he said, leaning in, which caused Hermione and Ron to do the same thing. “It was Hagrid… Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago. I learned it in Riddle’s diary earlier today, before it was taken.”

The trio fell into an uneasy silence. They all stood around not sure on what they should do or whether it would be wise to defend Hagrid at all, working at the school or not.

* * *

Harry sat at his desk in the second-year boys’ dormitory, his green eyes locked on the diary which belonged to T. M. Riddle. He studied Riddle’s diary carefully, poking it with one of Crabbe’s discarded and unused quills, studying the thing. He used the quill to drag the book across the desk, into prime reading position. When the dairy did nothing, he regarded it curiously, his eyes narrowing as he studied the diary more careful than he should have, seeing as it looked harmless.

He cursed Draco in his head for mentioning all those cursed books not too long ago.

‘ _Don’t be a wimp, Harry, if Neville Longbottom can open the book, then you can as well_ ,’ said Tom, his voice filled with a hint of urgency.

Harry nodded his head, not that Tom could see that, or maybe he could, he stopped trying to understand Tom ages ago. He picked up the diary and toyed with it for a moment. He shifted his inkpot into a perfect position for writing and dipped one of his quills into it, not wanting to use Crabbe’s low-quality quill for writing. He opened the diary with one hand and gently set it on the desk, his wand sitting just next to him on the desk, in perfect grab range.

‘ _Do you see how easy that was? You know that I’d never allow you to do something that could injure you_ ,’ said Tom, his voice soothing the boy’s runaway thoughts. ‘ _Now, just open the book and be careful_.’

Harry glanced at the blank page and gently turned it, revealing another blank page. “How?” he asked, staring at the diary. He turned another, and another, and another, all revealing blank pages. “How is the diary blank?”

‘ _How? I assume it’s with magic, you imbecile_ ,’ said Tom, chuckling. ‘ _There’s not one thing ordinary about this book. It’s laced and coated with so much magic that I’m surprised it hasn’t caught fire or self-destructed_.’

Harry grumbled under his breath, cursing Tom and that he deserved the ordinary name that he was given. “You’re right, just this once, so what do I do? Just write in the diary and hope that it works?”

‘ _Sure_ ,’ said Tom.

Harry lifted his quill above the diary and began to write.

_(Harry) Hello, my name is Harry._

The moment his quill touched the paper he felt something hook onto his mind. He winced as the feeling intensified before it stopped. Of course, Tom insulted his intelligence and self-preservation for actually writing in the book and not making someone else do it. He didn’t get a chance to retort and state that it was actually Tom’s idea.

_(Riddle) Hello, Harry, my name is Tom Riddle. May I ask you a question?_

_(Harry) Sure, although, you did just ask a question._

_(Riddle) How did you come by my diary, Harry?_

_(Harry) I found it… it was… hidden._

_(Riddle) Hidden? That’s rather odd, I don’t remember hiding my diary. My diary was taken from me._

_(Harry) Taken, you say? From what I have seen, this little diary has been passed between various hands more than it should have been. In fact, since the start of this year, I’m sure multiple people have had it in their possession._

_(Riddle) Yes. I’ll be honest with you, if you be honest with me._

_(Harry) I guess I can be honest with you, after all, this is your diary._

_(Riddle) Excellent, what is your full name? You only gave me your first-name, which impressed me with how careful you are being. We must stand on equal footing._

_(Harry) Potter, my name is Harry Potter._

Harry winced again as the hooks that had latched onto his mind vanished. He stared at the book for a while, unsure of what he should do.

_(Riddle) You must forgive the charm that hook into your mind, even though I got nothing from you. I assume you have some steady Occlumency walls. Tell me, Harry, are you a student at Hogwarts?_

_(Harry) It’s quite alright, it wasn’t that much of an unpleasant expression, but forgive me for saying it was interesting. As for your last question, I do attend Hogwarts. I’m in my second-year._

_(Riddle) And yet you have spectacular Occlumency walls? For a while I assumed you were a professor. I didn’t develop such walls until my sixth year._

_(Harry) Far too many people claim that I am a prodigy, but I simply learned from actually spending my time reading, tearing apart any resource that I could find, not literally of course, even on subjects I found myself naturally talented at. You studied Occlumency? I have seen that it was considered to be a slightly darker gift, not as dark as its counterpart, Legilimency, but still slightly dark._

_(Riddle) Indeed, I assume you have already guessed which house I was in._

_(Harry) Oh my, yes, from the moment I started to write to you, I knew that you would be in Hufflepuff._

_(Riddle) Excuse me?_

_(Harry) I was joking. From the first moment I began writing to you, it was almost highly obvious, at least for me, to tell that you were indeed a Slytherin._

_(Riddle) And what house are you currently in, Harry?_

_(Harry) Take a guess._

_(Riddle) Hufflepuff._

_(Harry You cannot use the same joke that I did. Come on. I’ll have you know that I have a few friends from Hufflepuff, they are… unique._

_(Riddle) Very funny, I am almost dying of laughter. I would suggest Gryffindor, but with how you act, I am going to say that you share my house. You’re clearly a Slytherin. If not for how your attitude is, just for the simple fact that you have tried to manipulate me._

_(Harry) I’m not sure if you know this, but it’s my love of books stopping me from hurling you into the fireplace in the common room. I could also feed you to Nagini._

_(Riddle) Who is Nagini? That sounds like such an odd name for a person, I assume it’s a nickname?_

_(Harry) You don’t know what Nagini means? That is remarkably odd._

_(Riddle) After the Nāga. I am not stupid, you insolent child. I was just curious._

_(Harry) Nagini is my familiar, she found me when I was six and saved my life. She has been with me ever since._

_(Riddle) Familiar? It has been a long time since someone has actually bonded to a snake. I knew of one, but she was bonded to someone else and would not bond to me, it was upsetting. Although she did mention that she was waiting for someone else when her old master finally let her go._

_(Harry) Interesting, I assume you’re a Parselmouth or you wouldn’t have come across that knowledge as it appears the snake has told you. You’re just lucky that I like you and couldn’t use this knowledge against you._

_(Riddle) Interesting, what breed of snake is she?_

_Harry had to pause as he had no idea on how he could actually explain that he had no idea what breed of snake Nagini was. He had attempted to look and search, but he found nothing on her. Her dosage of venom was far more potent than anything he had ever seen._

_(Harry) I don’t know. It pains me to say it, but I was never able to find out. She actually looks like a crossbred snake, I assume she’s highly magical, due to her speed and poison, if she was a natural snake, she would be one of the fiercest and have very little predators, as nothing can stand up to her._

_(Riddle) Why not just ask her what breed she is?_

_(Harry) I would have to be a Parselmouth for that, Tom._

_(Riddle) Many would claim that having a snake as a familiar, not a pet, would make you a Parselmouth as in order for her to bond with you, she would have had to actually talk to you, as you said before. You assumed that you were actually leading this little game we were playing? Amusing._

_(Harry) It upsets me that I fell into your trap. Regardless, I have asked Nagini and she just told me that she would tell me when the time is right. Even in the wizarding world it’s hard to find information on her. I have had to lower my search as the headmaster is getting cautious of my actions._

_(Riddle) Finding out your snakes breed may require a few Secrets._

_(Harry) That wasn’t subtle, over speech it may have been, but over text it was painfully obvious. I have debated about trying to find out where the Chamber is, but I have had no such luck. As I did write just before, the headmaster is watching me._

_(Riddle) I can show you where the Chamber of Secrets is, but it will not come for free._

_(Harry) What do you want in return? I did not expect such a thing for free._

_(Riddle) Good, good. I have a few things, some are small but they must be completed first. The first thing is to promise me that you will hand this diary back to Ginny Weasley when I tell you to, no questions asked. Do you have any questions?_

_(Harry) …_

_(Riddle) That was satisfying, to say the least. The second is when you reach the Chamber of Secrets, you go through the corridor and turn left when you see the engraving of a snake, the snake will not move and it can be very hard to miss. Cut your palm and push your blood against the snake. It will not harm you, you have my word. You need to use Slytherin’s Dagger, in order to find it, seek out Salazar’s portrait in the common room, in order for him to appear, you must expose yourself to Slytherin as a Parselmouth._

_(Harry) Slytherin as in Salazar or the entire house?_

_(Riddle) I cannot hold your hand, Harry. Once you get the dagger from Slytherin, contact me and I will show you the way towards the Chamber of Secrets_

_(Harry) Is that all, it seems very reasonable to me._

_(Riddle) I am a very reasonable person, Harry, but there is one more thing I need you to do. That’s allow the events that play out without exposing myself or my plans. You may be requested later on, when it’s nearly completed. You must come._

Harry leaned back slightly, smirking, watching as Riddle’s words vanished, a slight smirk on his face as he realized that he would be able to get into the Chamber and prove the entire myth of a creature from Slytherin attacking students and petrifying them. He twirled his quill in his hands before writing out his reply.

_(Harry) Alright, I guess, that seems like a fair deal. I have no arguments for it._

_(Riddle) Excellent. I’ll reply whenever you have questions. I suggest you begin hunting for Slytherin’s Dagger – oh it will vanish after you have used it or it leaves the area of Hogwarts, I highly suggest you do not attempt to steal it, it will kill you. The dagger is worth so much Galleons, that the temptation will be there, no matter how wealthy you already are. That is the real test, Harry._

_(Harry) Thank you, Tom. I must be going, Nagini is eyeing me like she wants to eat me. I have neglected her these past few hours, I am sure she is much displeased._

_(Riddle) Farewell, Harry._

_(Harry) Wait!_

_(Riddle) Yes?_

_(Harry) I have another request._

_(Riddle) The negotiating is over, Harry._

_(Harry) Just hear me out._

_(Riddle) Fine._

_(Harry) You’re obviously talented, in multiple branches of magic. This diary is a testament to that as it’s never been done before, else books would be this. I want you to teach me everything you know._

_(Riddle) Not happening._

_(Harry) Fine. I’ll just take you straight to Dumbledore. I don’t mind if I don’t find the Chamber of Secrets just yet, I’ll just ask Nagini to look for it in my years at school. Plus, Dumbledore has promised me that he’ll give a shot at being a professor, so I’ll have all those years to search for it._

_(Riddle) Insolent brat. I’ll teach you what you want, but keep your mouth shut and do as I say. I expect daily updates._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any errors, I'm going to cry as I checked it three times, at different times, before uploading.


	26. Confessions

Chapter 26 – **Confessions**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 30/July/2016_

* * *

Harry had, over the weeks, become more and more interested with Ginevra Weasley. It was very, very close to almost obsession, but he wondered what her role in this entire whole ordeal was. He wondered what Riddle wanted with the girl, as she was from a failed pure-blood line, poor, had two friends, and was pathetic in every iteration of the word. He noticed that the girl had started to regain the colour in her cheeks and she appeared to be healthier overall, even going out and watching the Quidditch practices with longing.

“Stop ignoring me, Harry, I’m trying to tell you something.”

Harry knew that was Draco, the huff that came after was definitely all Draco. He glanced towards Draco with a small smile, noting that the boy had shoved aside his plate and was staring between him and Weasley.

“Stop looking at Weasley, else Goyle may get jealous that you’re ogling his future wife – or was it you, Crabbe, who found Weasley attractive?

Harry ignored the slight banter, knowing that the two goons wouldn’t have anything to say besides a grunt. He chewed on his toast, which was coated in butter and had a thin layer of jam on it. He turned towards Draco, swallowing the last bite, and frowned. “I have something to tell you,” he said simply. “But before that, you – Nagini, leave my toast alone. I doubt it’ll do you much good. I’ll get you something soon.”

“ **I’m hungry, Youngling, and you’re starving me** ,” whined Nagini. “ **I demand something to eat. Something delicious**.”

Harry ignored Nagini, which was hard as he wanted to snort at the whiny tone. “Would you like to talk in private or is here any good?” he asked, hoping Draco said the former, but the option was always there.

Draco glanced around, pondering each option carefully. “I would prefer it be done in private,” he said, realising that the option was better as it’d allow everything be said freely and not hidden and he didn’t really want to deal with a hidden agenda.

Harry followed alongside Draco, trying not to laugh as Nagini began a monologue about how she was starved and forced to eat rats that tasted awful. He really wanted to point out that Nagini had a diet larger than just rats and she often ate other things more often than not. He was tugged into a nearby alcove, hidden slightly by a pillar. He and Draco stood facing each other, their faces less than inches apart. He coughed awkwardly and pushed himself back, summoning a rat in the process for Nagini, who happily devoured the thing.

“That’s gross,” said Draco, staring at the snake as it ate the rat. He sighed and pushed it out of his mind as he attempted to end the awkward silence that had begun. “Father is coming tomorrow. He said something in a letter about dealing with the oaf and Dumbledore. I know that you have a very good invisibility cloak, Harry, can we use it and see what my father’s up to?”

“You can if you promise to not hit me when I tell you what I need to,” said Harry, giving Draco a nervous look.

Draco nodded, a curious expression on his face. “I promise, Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I’m a Parselmouth, Draco, I can speak to snake.”

“ **You idiot, Youngling, why tell him**?” hissed Nagini. “ **You didn’t even ease him into it with question about how he would feel, you just threw it on him, as you humans say**.”

Harry didn’t even have to look into Draco’s grey eyes to know that he was furious, he could see it in the boy’s posture. He wondered briefly how Draco would react to the statement as he knew that Draco would know that he wasn’t joking, not about something serious like this.

The sound of a hand hitting a face echoed against the walls of the alcove.

Harry lifted his hand from his side to the side of his face, fighting the urge to burst into laughter at the sheer oddness of him being slapped across the face by Draco, who looked deadly serious.

He and Draco often found themselves in fights, whether it be magical, verbal, or physical. Neither were exactly new to the whole bruises and cuts because of it. Never in all of their fights had Draco ever slapped him. It was, in some sense, far funnier than it should have been because that one action was completely Narcissa. He realised that Draco was displeased but didn’t want to punch him in the face as people would ask questions and neither wanted anyone to be asking about this situation. A slap can be somewhat disguised as a blush or the bite from the cold.

“Did you just slap me, Draco?”

“How dare you keep something like that from me!” said Draco, talking over Nagini, not that he knew that. “You promised me ages ago that you would tell me everything! You promised that no matter what, you wouldn’t keep me in the dark about any talents that you had.”

Nagini had lifted her head, assessing the two humans in front of her. An ordinary snake would’ve been amused by the interaction, but she was somewhat concerned. She, unlike other snakes, learned everything from her master, Harry, her grasp on the human tongue was horrid, but better than most other snakes. This allowed her to delve deeper into her own native language and allow her to hold an intelligent conversation, a limited one, but intelligent nonetheless.

“I did tell you, Draco, I told you when we were younger,” said Harry, uncertain. It was a half-truth, he had informed Draco that it would be cool and awesome if he could speak to snakes, seeing how Draco would react. Like he predicted, even at his young age, Draco reacted poorly and stated that he wouldn’t want it for all the Galleons in Gringotts.

“Are you calling me stupid, Harry? I would remember if you told me that you could speak to snakes, that you were a Parselmouth!”

“I have told you, Draco, in ways that I thought you would understand!” said Harry. “You also promised me that you wouldn’t hit me, yet you did.”

“I didn’t hit you hard,” said Draco, muttering under his breath. “I am so… angry with you at the moment, Harry.”

“Even if I didn’t tell you in words, I meant for you to find out. I was rather careless with how I used the ability, nor did I ever deny being one. You have to understand that I shared a talent with Voldemort, a talent I shouldn’t have. What would’ve happened if it got out that I was a Parselmouth?”

“It wouldn’t have!” said Draco, certain. “You think I would have ran around and told people?”

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead as he thought of something to say. “Well, no, I never said that you would have told people, just that it could have got out and then I would have been exposed,” he said. “It wasn’t just you, Draco, that I kept this from. No one, bar you, knows that I’m a Parselmouth.”

Draco was speechless for a moment. “So?” he said, shrugging his shoulder and giving a gesture with his hand. “I thank you for finally telling me that you can speak to snakes.”

Harry sighed. “You don’t understand that I told _no one_ , Draco, not even my mother and I tell her everything. I didn’t tell your parents either, despite the fact that it could have helped me learn the ability in a more thorough way. I didn’t want anyone to know…”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“Because I felt bad for keeping you in the dark constantly,” said Harry, deflating. “If I could have at least learned where it came from, then I may have been able to explain it better, but I’ve been one since I was younger. My first words were in Parseltongue. Perhaps I got the ability because I desperately wanted to talk to Nagini or because of some other reason.”

The two lapsed into an uneasy silence, both knowing that the argument was far from finished and was just starting. Draco had hundreds of questions and was generally curious on how Harry got the talent, but he was far too annoyed and angry to ask and fall into the trap that Harry would employ the moment he asked.

“I honestly cannot believe you at times, Harry,” said Draco, a burst of renewed anger surging through him as he thought on it more and more. “I would never do something like this to you, especially if it was regarding such a rare and unique talent. I would never betray your trust and run off and tattle on you. You betray mine so regularly that I’m not sure if we’re even friends.”

Harry halted in whatever he was going to retort and said nothing, wondering why Draco’s last words hurt him so much more than they should have. He couldn’t be upset over what Draco had said, no matter how much he wanted to protest against it. “I’m telling you now. Is that really that bad, Draco? I always tell you things in the end,” he said, the weakest counterargument ever. “I honestly thought you knew about it up until now. I suggested books on snakes, snake breeding and snake mannerisms and you never picked up the fact that it’s impossible to control a snake without being a Parselmouth? The only reason a snake will understand some English is because they’re bound to a Parselmouth.”

Draco sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “How was I supposed to guess any of that? I’m sure the only reason you know is because your snake informed you how it works and what she knows about it.”

“Well, that’s right, but still, it’s hinted at in books, especially _Hogwarts: A History_!” said Harry calmly. He was about to reply with the exact quote where Salazar Slytherin had theorized on it and decided not to when he realised that Draco was glaring.

“Do you trust me, Harry?”

“Of course I do, Draco, don’t ask silly questions.”

“Do you still want to be my friend?”

Harry wasn’t sure on where Draco was going with so he just nodded, hoping that Draco didn’t realise that the two questions had caught him off-guard. “Of course I want to be your friend, Draco,” he said when no response was given to his nod. “You know that.”

“Do you care about me, Harry?” asked Draco, his voice soft. “Would you be upset if something happened to me and we could no longer speak?”

Harry stared at Draco for the longest time ever, wondering what bought those four questions on. He understood that Draco was upset and he needed confirmation that they were still close and still friends, but he was pretty uncertain about it all. “Draco, you’re being silly. We have almost eleven years of friendship between us – yes, I’m counting the years as babies and the years that I lacked the ability to speak. I still remember racing you around your manor, knocking priceless vases from their marble pedestals and making the various house-elves chase after them, making sure they never crashed on the floor,” he said, smiling slightly at the memories. His hand was resting on Draco’s shoulder, which was an odd gesture as Draco was almost a head taller. “I will always trust you, Draco. I’ll always be your friend, Draco. I’ll always care about you, Draco. I’d be distraught if you ever vanished and our friendship was lost. You know all that and more. I just hope that despite it all, you feel the same way towards me.”

Draco looked at Harry, emotion swimming in his grey eyes. “I cannot promise that, Harry, not at the moment. You hurt me,” he said, a frown on his face. He felt Nagini brush up against him, obviously trying to soothe him for some reason. “You hurt me more than what I can explain, Harry.”

The tapestry that hid the dimly lit alcove was yanked open, despite the protests of the person on the tapestry.

A fourth-year Gryffindor poked his head into it, a smirk on his face as he took in the scene in front of him. He bared his teeth at the two Slytherins and let out a soft whistle. “Look at what we’ve got here, eh, lads,” he said, gesturing behind his back, towards a small gathering of his friends, who chuckled and moved on. “Looks like little Potter is letting Malfoy touch his snake.”

Draco stepped over Nagini, making sure not to step on her, and fled from the tapestry, scowling at the Gryffindor as he left. He knew that Harry would probably scowl and verbally abuse the Gryffindor, maybe even throw a minor hex at him and then would retreat towards the library. He wasn’t surprised when he heard a scream, the Gryffindor deserved it.

* * *

Harry watched Draco’s retreating back as if the world had suddenly fallen into slow motion. He felt a sense of dread as he twisted towards the grinning fourth-year Gryffindor, intent on making the boy suffer for causing him to lose his only real friend. He wasn’t sure what happened, but he remembered whipping out his wand and barking out the first spell on the tip of his tongue, which was a beginner Dark Arts curse, one that would cause moderate suffering until the victim was relieved from it. It was a spell that Riddle had taught him. Borderline Dark Arts, at the most.

He watched as the Gryffindor boy gasped in pain and then dropped to the ground in a heap, his eyes going wide. He threw a very minor Silencing Charm at the now screaming boy and gestured his hand towards Nagini, who happily slithered up it. He glared at the Gryffindor boy before stepping over him and heading off towards the library to do some research and to ask Riddle about the wards that detected the Dark Arts.

* * *

Professor Snape was silently working on a potion when he heard the tell-tale signs of an alert ward going off in his head, something that he scowled at. Of course a student would break rules when he was busy, it was how it always was.

He vanished the contents in the cauldron and walked towards his desk, trying to figure out the general proximity of the cause of the ward to go off and what had been done. He knew it had to either be a potion related incident or a minor Dark Arts spell, not much else would go to him instead of the headmaster.

He was thrilled when Albus came up to him and informed him that the ward for minor Dark Arts would be directed to him and not the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor as for some reason the job couldn’t be held for an extended period and constantly altering the ward would do more harm than good. Had he have known at the time that it would disrupt his potion making, he would have refused.

He walked through the corridors in a swift manner, his cloak trailing behind him as if he was walking against the wind. He quickly spotted the boy who was alone and in a part of the castle that not many traversed and scowled. He watched as the boy thrashed and wailed silently on the ground. He waved his wand and the Silencing Charm over the boy vanished instantly, filling the corridor with the boy’s girlish screams.

As if screaming would help with the spell that had been cast on him.

“H-help!” said the boy, his teeth clenched together as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Everything b-burns!”

Professor Snape was glad that the boy had some intelligence to instantly say what’s wrong, despite the fact that what was said wasn’t helpful, it did help narrow down what spell was used on him. Common to belief, you cannot just walk up and Finite a Dark Arts spell, it would do more harm to the person. “How long have you been under this, boy? I need –”

“F-fifteen minutes,” gasped the boy. “Felt l-like hours, b-but it wasn’t! Clock moved v-very little.”

Professor Snape scowled at being interrupted. He thought about why it took so long for the ward to tell him that the Dark Arts had been used and why it allowed a boy to suffer in the school. He dug around in his robes and pulled out a small phial of purple potion and shoved it against the boy’s mouth. He gripped the boy’s head with his other hand and forced the boy to drink it. He knew the potion wouldn’t instantly cure it, but it would dull the pain and allow him more time to think.

“Sir –”

“Be quiet, boy, I’m thinking,” snapped Professor Snape. “Something you’re clearly incapable of doing as you should be describing the effects of the spell while the pain is dulled.”

“W-what?”

“You think just tipping a potion down your throat will stop the effects from the spell? You’re still suffering from the spell, it’s just dulled.”

The two went over the spell for ten minutes until the fact the boy remembered nothing gave the spell away. Professor Snape was thankful that the boy had the intelligence to actually explain that he remembered everything as a soft haze and that he couldn’t even remember why he was in this corridor in the first place. That little titbit of information also explained why the Dark Arts ward didn’t instantly go off.

“Professor Snape,” said the boy, shaking. “I remember something.”

“Oh?”

The boy ignored the sarcasm laced word. “It was a Slytherin… I remember the clothing, but that’s about it.”

Professor Snape watched as the boy once against fell into tears, his hand twitching painfully. “You’ll be fine in a few hours, even less if you go to the hospital wing and ask for a soothing balm from Madam Pomfrey,” he said as he turned away, ignoring the whimpering from the boy. “Stupid, dim-witted prepubescent hormonal teenagers! Most likely a fifth-year or above cursed the idiot boy for disrespecting his family.”

He continued muttering about stupid students as he made his way towards the dungeons, knowing that most of them should be there, which would help round down who was missing and find out who cast the spell. He moved at a speed that would just increase the rumours that he was a vampire.

“Professor Snape?” said Gemma, surprised at seeing the professor. “Is something wrong?”

“In,” said Professor Snape, gesturing towards the common room. He barked out for everyone to sit and watched as everyone did so. “Not even twenty minutes ago, I felt the ward that alerts me to minor Dark Arts spells go off. The spell used delayed the ward, which allowed the student to escape and could even be in this room with us. I’m not going to go into details of the spell as I’m sure that not many of you would know such a spell as your parents would have had to be deep into the Dark Arts to even learn the spell.”

“What spell was it?”

“That is the curious thing, Mr. Higgs, I have no idea what the spell is actually called, but it was easily vanished and the student will be alright,” said Professor Snape. “Luckily for the person who cast the spell, it meddled with the mind and the boy only remembers a purple haze.”

“So it has the same effect as an Obliviate?”

“I wouldn’t put it to that extent, in fact, I would dare say it’s the most opposite thing to it. The boy will experience the pain that he felt during the fifteen or so minutes of torture whenever he tries to access the memory. The memory is still there, just not accessible.”

“We haven’t lost any points yet, so the person wasn’t caught?” asked a sixth-year. “I mean, none of us would ever do something as stupid as using a Dark Arts curse in the corridors.”

“Clearly,” said Professor Snape in a slow drawl, which caused the Slytherins to wince slightly. “Mr. Malfoy, would you go and fetch Mr. Potter from the library? It’s obvious that he’s far to engrossed in a book to listen to the portrait that’s telling him to come back to the common room.”

Draco frowned and began to stand. “Alright, sir.”

“If you would go _now_ , Mr. Malfoy,” said Professor Snape, glaring. “If someone catches wind of a Dark Arts spell being used then he’ll be the first to be question and despite the boy’s spectacular Occlumency ability, he’s still a child and has no idea how to handle this situation as a house.”

The moment that Draco left the room, the students burst into questions, mostly revolving around accusations that it was Potter that did it and that’s why Malfoy was sent.

Professor Snape scowled at the sheer accusation that Harry would caste torture spells and not feel bad about it. He knew that Harry didn’t have a single bone in his body that would allow him to actually torture people and thrive off the pain. He did, at times, debate about how Harry’s moral compass worked and how the boy would turn out, but he knew that Harry couldn’t torture. The memory of a four year old Harry silently panicking when a cat was injured instantly burst into his mind and he was able to rest easy about it. It wasn’t Harry. “Keep your accusations to yourself. We aren’t Hufflepuffs who thrive on gossip, especially about our own.”

* * *

Harry sat in his usual spot in the large library, a bookcase hiding the view of him. He opened Riddle’s diary and quickly dipped his quill into his inkpot and wrote on the page, hoping for a detailed answer that would soothe him.

_(Harry) Hello, Riddle. I hate to bother you at such a time, but I’m in a bit of a dilemma._

_(Riddle) What have you done now, child? It’s hardly been a day since we last spoke and that conversation lasted most of the day and night._

_(Harry) I’m twelve, I’m not a child…_

_(Riddle) No matter, what have you done, and what makes you think that I can help you?_

_(Harry) I told my friend that I’m a Parselmouth and he reacted badly. I decided to inform him alone before I had to tell the Slytherin house, not that I’m understanding that concept at all, and hopefully he would understand, but he didn’t. He got angry and then hit me, not hard, but still. Before I could fix it, a Gryffindor boy came in and made a few jokes and then Draco stormed off._

_(Riddle) Friends are a weakness, Harry, that’s why I kept them as far away as possible. You’ll never experience these feelings if you push yourself away from them._

_(Harry) I know what you mean, but not having Draco as a friend is a weakness. He’s my only friend, Riddle, and I want him to remain so._

_(Riddle) And what’s the issue?_

_(Harry) I am sighing at you, I hope you know. I lost my tempter when the guy interrupted, well I threw a spell at him and heard him scream... I then threw a silencing spell on him so I could escape without people hearing him scream in the corridor._

_(Riddle) Good lad, he deserved what spell he got, what is the issue with that?_

_(Harry) Can you not call me lad? It makes you seem much older than you apparently are and it’s very out of character. Regardless, I used one of the spells you taught me against the boy. I don’t like to torture people, Riddle, its wrong!_

_(Riddle) No need to get testy about it, Harry, I was simply encouraging what you did. Sometimes people need to be put in their place. You know that a little bit of –_

Harry waited and waited, waiting for more to be said as there was clearly more to be said after that little bit said. He frowned as the page flashed oddly, as if the diary was trying to tell him something. He quickly wrote on the page, stopping the ink from flashing. He wouldn’t admit it out loud that he slightly worried for his new acquaintance, even if they only spoke through a diary.

_(Harry) Are you alright, Tom?_

_(Riddle) I’m perfectly fine, Harry, just a little confused. I just realised that I personally cannot encourage you to do something. It seems to be a fine line on what I can and cannot suggest, but I have a theory that it’s because our magic clashes or mine recognises you, most likely because we’re related. You know that a little bit of your magic is pushed into the dairy._

_(Harry) I know._

_(Riddle) Doesn’t matter now. How about you explain why you dislike torture?_

_(Harry) I just don’t like it, it’s wrong. I have read various texts and scrolls about torture, it’s fascinating in theory, but in practice it’s almost stomach rolling. I don’t ever want to cause anyone that much pain again. I feel like if someone is going to die, they should just be killed. For a while I defended the Cruciatus Curse, saying that it could help restart hearts, but a part of me knew it was wrong to defend that spell._

_(Riddle) There’s a difference between inflicting pain and torturing, Harry._

_(Harry) I know, but it’s a fine line, either doesn’t appeal to me, it just doesn’t._

_(Riddle) Alright, Harry, don‘t overthink it and do what you think is right. You cannot go wrong with that. Doing what you yourself believe is right, not anyone else. If you don’t want to harm people, I respect you for that. You best get Slytherin’s dagger very soon, we are running out of time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always, feel free to correct any errors in a comment and I'll fix 'em right up. I searched long and hard and found none myself. :s


	27. Draco’s Idea

Chapter 27 – **Draco’s Idea**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 13/August/2016_

* * *

Draco huffed and grabbed Harry by the arm roughly, spinning the smaller boy around to face him. “Father will be coming today! Can we do what we discussed? Please.”

Harry scowled at being manhandled and fought to not laugh at Draco’s whiny tone. His right eye twitched slightly as he debated the options. Draco had received a letter earlier today that Lucius was stopping in and not to come and seek him as it was official Ministry business. There was a promise that he would stop by on the next weekend to watch the Quidditch game, which was Slytherin verse Hufflepuff.

“Harry!”

Harry nodded slightly. The joy at seeing that little nod caused joy to spread across Draco’s face at an alarming rate. Seeing that joy was worth it. Missing out on a few hours of studying to see Draco truly happy was worth it. He would tell himself that every day, repeat it more than twice if he ever doubted it. “You know that –” his comment was disrupted when Draco charged into him and nearly squeezed him half to death in a bear hug like hug. He felt his feet slightly lift off the ground and Nagini let out a hissed laugh.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” said Draco, each word coming out faster and faster. “I cannot wait to see what happens to the oaf and why the Ministry is involved!”

“Remember,” said Harry, “the cloak will make us invisible, not silent. We’ll have to be as silent as possible and keep our laughter for later. Got it?”

“Yes.”

Harry swept the cloak over the both of them, vanishing them both from sight.

The walk through the silent corridors was painful, to say the least. Harry was no stranger to exploring these dark and deserted corridors. He had been looking for secret things ever since the Chamber of Secrets was revealed. He hushed Draco, who made some sort of odd noise, as they walked down a corridor with a few portraits who were known gossips.

He and Draco walked around the corner, getting closer and closer to the Entrance Hall, hoping to make it to the oaf’s hut without any suspicion being thrown on them. They paused when they noticed the scene in front of them, their mouths hanging open slightly. Professors, prefects and the ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity.

Harry spotted Professor Snape, who was scowling at the event, and moved towards him, clenching Draco’s hand as he moved silently. He knew the moment that Professor Snape’s eyes locked onto where he was that he had been caught. How the man always spotted him was infuriating to say the least.

“Potter,” said Professor Snape softly. “Sneaking around using that cloak of yours are you?”

“I’m not sneaking, professor, I’m walking in a slow and calculating manner.”

“Get out of my sight and don’t get caught,” replied Professor Snape. “And before you forget, you’re coming to my office later so that we can have some much needed words.”

“Thank you, professor.”

“How’d he know where we were?” asked Draco, curious. “We were silent.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, Draco, I honestly don’t.”

Harry and Draco stepped outside, easily avoiding getting caught. They were Slytherins, after all, and glanced up at the sky. The sky was clear and filled with stars, shining brightly.

“It’s a nice night,” said Draco. “I wonder what the sky looks like in the Great Hall. I’m sure it looks amazing.”

“It is,” replied Harry, looking up at the sky.

“Look – over there – is that Weasley and Longbottom?”

Harry looked in the direction that Draco was pointing. “Looks like it,” he said. “I wonder how they managed to get out of the castle undetected.”

They followed the Gryffindors all the way towards the oaf’s hut, thanking Salazar for the easy way into the oaf’s hut.

Hagrid opened the door, shocked, he made a sound that sounded awfully similar towards ‘oh’ and lowered his crossbow. “What’re you two doin’ here?”

“Whoa, what’s that for, Hagrid?” asked Ron, looking rather shocked at having a crossbow pointing at his face.

“It’s nothin’… nothin’. I’ve bin expectin’ – doesn’ matter. Sit down… I’ll make tea,” said Hagrid, gesturing the two boys inside, as well as the two boys hidden under the invisibility cloak, not that he knew that. He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.

“Are you alright, Hagrid?” asked Neville sadly, watching the man and then eyeing the shattered teapot. “Did you hear about Hermione?”

“Oh, I heard, all right,” muttered Hagrid, a slight break in his voice. He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both large mugs of boiling water, in which he had forgotten to add tea bags, and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate, when there was a loud knock on the door. He dropped the fruitcake.

Neville and Ron flashed pale and quickly hid in the corner, behind a large object which covered them both nicely, but allowed them some ability to see who had entered via reflections.

Hagrid checked that Ron and Neville were hidden, when he saw they were, he seized his crossbow and flung open his door once more.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore in a very grandfatherly tone, his eyes drifted towards where Ron and Neville were before he stepped inside. His gaze suddenly turned serious. Just behind him a second, very odd-looking man stepped inside.

The stranger was a short, portly man with rumpled grey hair and an anxious expression. He was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pin-striped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.

“That’s Dad’s boss!” breathed Ron. “Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!”

Neville elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up, after all, they weren’t invisible.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

“Bad business, Hagrid. Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns,” muttered Cornelius, his voice highly clipped. “Things have gone far enough. Ministry’s got to act.”

Hagrid looked imploringly at Dumbledore. “You know that I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir…”

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence.”

“Look, Albus,” said Cornelius, uncomfortably. “Hagrid’s record’s against him. Ministry’s got to do something – the school governors have been in touch.”

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire most had never seen before.

“Look at it from my point of view,” said Cornelius, fidgeting with his bowler. “I’m under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, he’ll be back and no more said. But I’ve got to take him. Got to. Wouldn’t be doing my duty –”

“Take me?” said Hagrid, interrupting the Minister, his hands began to shake violently at the sheer thought. “Take me where?”

“For a short stretch only,” said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid’s eyes. “Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you’ll be let out with a full apology…”

“Not Azkaban?” croaked Hagrid, his large frame was shaking rather violently. Another thing no one would have seen.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door. Dumbledore answered it with a frown on his face.

Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid’s hut, swathed in a long black travelling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl. “You’re already here, Fudge?” he said approvingly. “Good, good.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” said Hagrid furiously. “Get outta my house!”

Lucius looked rather amused as he glanced around the supposed house. “My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your – err – do you call this a house?” he said, sneering. He heard the shuffle of a foot near him and he frowned. He wondered briefly if Draco defied his orders and seized Harry’s invisibility cloak and came to spy on the meeting. “I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here.”

“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.

Lucius lazily reached into his pocket, taking out a long roll of parchment, he held up outwards. “Dreadful thing, Dumbledore, but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension – you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more a few days ago, wasn’t it? At this rate, there’ll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school.”

Harry didn’t know that there had been attacks recently, he had come to the conclusion that all the patrolling was done to prevent attacks. Come to think of it, that explains what Longbottom was talking about earlier with the oaf about Granger, was she petrified? Holding the laugh he focused back on the conversation.

“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Cornelius, looking rather alarmed. “Dumbledore suspended… no, no… last thing we want just now…”

“The appointment – or suspension – of the Headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge,” said Lucius smoothly. “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks…”

“Now look, Lucius, if Dumbledore can’t stop them –”said Cornelius before abruptly stopping, his upper lip was sweating now. “What I mean to say is, who can?”

“That remains to be seen…” said Lucius with a highly vicious smirk. “But as all twelve of us have voted.”

Hagrid leapt to his feet, an angry expression on his face as his shaggy black head nearly grazed the ceiling. “An’ how many did yeh have ter threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?”

“Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid,” said Lucius tauntingly, his stormy grey eyes locked on the half-giant. “I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won’t like it at all.”

“Yeh can’ take Dumbledore!” yelled Hagrid, his voice caused some of the window fixtures to slightly rattle in place. Fang, the boarhound, cowered and whimper in his basket. “Take him away, an’ the Muggle-borns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killin’s next!”

“Is that a threat, Hagrid?” asked Lucius questionably, he forced his smirk of pleasure away when he saw the defeated look on the half-giant’s face.

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius. “If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside.”

“But –” started Cornelius, his forehead was lined with wrinkles, his eyes wide.

“No!” growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius’ cold grey ones. “However, you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

For a second, Neville was almost sure Dumbledore’s eyes flickered towards the corner where he and Ron stood hidden. His eyes flickered with various types of emotion.

“Admirable sentiments,” said Lucius with mock approval, he bowed slightly before straightening back up. “We shall all miss your – err – highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any – ah – _killin’s_.” He strode to the cabin door, opened it and bowed Dumbledore out.

Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him.

Hagrid stood still in his hut, taking a deep breath. “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ’em right! That’s all I’m sayin’,” he watched Fudge carefully, who stared at him in amazement. “All right, I’m coming,” he muttered, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again, much to the annoyance of Lucius Malfoy, who was standing at the door. “An’ someone’ll need ter feed Fang while I’m away.”

The moment the door banged shut Neville and Ron jumped from their hiding position. “Bloody hell!” said Ron, looking around. “We’re in trouble now. No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”

Neville was about to speak when he heard Fang howl and then yelp. “What’s going on Fang?” he asked, petting to distraught animal. “Hagrid won’t be gone forever.”

Draco swung his arm suddenly and caught Longbottom in the nose, the boy sprawled across the ground, groaning. He turned towards Harry, who had his lips pursed, his face filled with amusement, even more when a thin red liquid began to file out of Longbottom’s nose.

“Oops, sorry Longbottom, we didn’t see you there,” said Harry pulling the cloak off him and Draco. “What are you two doing here?”

“We could ask you the same question, Potter,” snapped Ron, glaring. “As for you, Malfoy, did you like the show your father put on? D’you enjoy watching dear old daddy bribe and blackmail other people?”

“Oh be quiet, Weasley, you have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

“What are you two even doing here?” asked Ron. “Lurking around the place. We didn’t even see you come in.”

“That’s because you’re blind, Weasley,” replied Harry, ignoring the growling of the dog. “Draco and I came in just after you, just before the headmaster – excuse me, the ex-headmaster entered.”

“Shut up, Potter!” yelled Ron, his hands clenched by his sides. “Tell me, Potter, how you’re petrifying people, hey! Tell me now!”

“Me?” said Harry, his hand going towards his heart. “You dare accuse me, Harry Potter, of going around and petrifying Muggle-born students? You dare?”

“I’m not stupid, Potter, I know that you petrified Hermione – I know, alright, don’t laugh. You didn’t like her… you hated her,” said Ron, almost growling. “She was smarter than you, better grades than you.”

“Oh? Granger had better grades than I? You know, the only student in many, many years to receive an ‘Outstanding’ on all subjects, the only person that has – you know what, you’re not worth my breath, Weasley,” said Harry, grinning. “Granger only got four ‘Outstandings’ the rest were, as you would say, an ‘Exceeds Expectations’. I could care less about who is or isn’t getting petrified. I dare assume that your sister has struck once more.”

Ron stood back as if he had been struck. His hand tugged at his robes, trying to find his wand. His wand may underperform due to an issue at the start of the year, but it could still work and he would demonstrate this by throwing a spell at Potter. “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY SISTER, POTTER?” he screeched, sounding more like a rabid dog than a human. “I’LL MAKE YOU PAY, POTTER!”

“Oh, do be quiet, Weasley. The only crime you seem to commit is being a Ginger, now, onto more serious things,” said Harry, grinning. He pulled out his wand and sent a spell at Weasley, who instantly shrieked like a little girl. He watched, excitement sparkling in his eyes, as the boy began an odd looking dance to get the spiders off, no matter where they were flicked, they instantly appeared back on him. “You scream at the sight of an insect, Weasley. You are, in all forms, pathetic. You? You'll make me pay? I'd love to see you try.”

“Finite Incantatem!” cried Neville, clenching his wand tightly. He sighed in relief as his best friend quit screaming the moment the spiders vanished. “That wasn’t nice, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, looking at Draco with amusement. “Why can he suspect me, yet I cannot suspect his sister?” he said, his tone slightly bitter. “She looks fine for a while, then all of a sudden she’s back to looking pale and sickly… shaky.”

Neville said nothing, instead he glared at Harry.

“Of course, I may be pulling at random thoughts,” continued Harry, looking amused. “Maybe she’s just embarrassed because she’s a Weasley.”

“Harry –”

“Well,” said Harry, cutting off Neville. “We best get going, Draco, wouldn’t want to be here when the professors come back. I’ll be sure to send Professor Snape back for you, Longbottom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay. August is a very hard time for me. I've already finished it, but I just lack any kind of energy to check through it before I upload it. I'm sure this has plenty of obvious errors that I missed. :x You guys are great and will spot them.


	28. Slytherin’s Portrait

Chapter 28 – **Slytherin’s Portrait**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 25/August/2016_

* * *

“ **Well, child, don’t just stand there and stare at me like you’re meeting your idol or long lost parents** ,” hissed the portrait, displeasure clear in the man’s eyes. He took in the young black-haired boy in front of him with a scowl. “ **Youth these days, why back in my time you would have been killed where you stood for such insolence**.”

Harry coughed.

“ **Ah, you’re a Slytherin then**?” hissed the portrait, taking in the green on the robes. “ **A Slytherin, yet you act like a Gryffindor, gaping instead of acting, where’s your cunning, child**?”

Harry snapped out of his reverie and smiled sweetly at the portrait in front of him, ignoring the glare on the portrait. “ **At least you don’t speak Old English like the other founders. Do you know how hard it was to get a straight answer from Godric Gryffindor? That was, of course, before he realised that I was a Slytherin and not in his own house. I have no idea how to say my name, let alone greet someone, in Old English, so I just walked away**.”

“ **Ah**!” hissed Salazar, his eyes narrowing. “ **Another Parselmouth? How odd**.”

“ **Indeed I am** ,” hissed Harry, grinning. “ **The only proper living one left, at least in Europe**.”

“ **Surely not** …”

Harry didn’t wish to count Longbottom in that equation. He wasn’t sure how Longbottom could speak to snakes, but his ability wasn’t legit. “ **You, my friend, were rather hard to track down**.”

“ **I am not your friend, you insolent child. And yes, I enjoy moving around, never staying in the same spot for far too long. It appears that you found one of my many main portraits and simply waited** ,” said Salazar, twisting his head to the side in a mocking gesture. “ **I’m not sure whether I should be proud or upset that I was caught with such a simple method**.”

“ **Either way, I would have found you today, I had Nagini tracking you, she’s pretty smart** ,” said Harry, waiting for the said snake to return. He glanced around the hallway, making sure it was clear he glanced back up towards the portrait. “ **It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Slytherin. My name is Harry Potter**.”

“ **Hm. I suppose you’re from the direct line of Potters**?”

Harry smiled fondly, slightly nodding at the same time. “ **Yes, sir, I’m from the main Potter line. All, but a very select few, of the secondary lines have been erased from the face of the earth. Only females were born for a while and that caused some issues considering the wizarding world follows the age-old rule that only males may be the heir of a family line** ,” he said, glossing over plenty of details. “ **The same thing happened to the Black line, sadly. Three females were born – all married now – and only two sons, the last Black heir has apparently neglected his duties**.”

“ **I never thought I would see the day when the Black line had crumbled down to one person** ,” said Salazar. “ **Do not blame the few generations of females for the line dying. I would instead blame those who were married and were satisfied with one child, instead of two**.”

“ **The times have changed, sir, most pure-blooded lines now only have one child as having two seems like a waste** ,” said Harry disapprovingly. “ **There’s a select few who still have more than one, and I mean that by respectable lines, not the Weasley line**.”

Salazar snorted and then shook his head. “ **I’m not even getting into this debate, it’s one you will lose. Just know, not all families are what they are now. What have you sought me out for, child**?”

Harry sniffed slightly, not due to sadness, but due to him not getting to continue his argument. “ **I would like to borrow your dagger, sir**.”

“ **Absolutely not**!”

Harry blinked.

“ **Do you think that you can just come up to me and attempt to sweet-talk me and then make off with my dagger**?”

Harry snorted, it was either snort or burst out in laughter. “ **You’re insulting your own magical ability? I know the dagger is limited to Hogwarts and it cannot be removed. Your dagger may be worth a lot of Galleons, but my life is worth more**.”

“ **Brat**!” hissed Salazar, the snake in portrait slithered around his feet. “ **You are very lucky that I cannot throw spells at you, or you would be begging me to stop** ,” he growled, glaring at the boy. “ **You look like you’re eight, why do you need my dagger**?”

“ **I am twelve, thank you very much**.”

Salazar made a noise and gave a gesture to continue.

“ **I would like to go down to the Chamber of Secrets and –** ”

“ **No! Absolutely not**!” roared Salazar, his eyes bored into the kid standing in front of him. “ **I made the same mistake once before, I will not allow you to control my basilisk**!”

Harry’s eyes went wide and he stared at Salazar. “ **There’s a basilisk in the school? Oh, that’s amazing**!” he said, a grin spread across his face. “ **That must be what is attacking people** …” he trailed off, ignoring the glare on Salazar’s face. “ **Listen, sir, I don’t want to take control of your basilisk – well I do, but just for a moment. I want it to go back and rest, stop attacking people**.”

“ **I don’t believe you, child** ,” hissed Salazar, his tone bitter. “ **The moment you learn her whereabouts, you’ll make her do things that will put my school and its pupils in danger**!”

“ **A female**?” whistled Harry, impressed. “ **That’s impressive in plenty of aspects. Listen, sir, I have read the history on you, everyone paints you in a very bad light, and you accept it. But I’m not stupid, your first loyalty was to your family, your second was to the school you helped create**.”

“ **What are you hounding on about, boy**?” replied Salazar, lips pursed. “I **know why you want my dagger and why you want to access the Chamber of Secrets, and I will not allow you to do it unless you convince me that you will let me basilisk rest until she is needed**.”

Harry stood silent for a moment before letting out a long breath, his eyes softened slightly as he glanced up at Salazar. “ **I’m glad that you’re so protective over your basilisk, sir** ,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “ **I first bonded to Nagini when I was six, pretty much straight after she saved my life. You must understand, sir, that I could never use a snake for any purpose to fulfil my own agenda… it’s morally wrong, and I’m sure Nagini would sooner eat me than allow me to command your snake to attack people**.”

“ **How did your snake save you? You skipped on that part of the story** ,” said Salazar, eyeing the boy calmly. While his features may have softened for the boy’s little charm that he has going for him, he was still suspicious.

Harry explained his events, skipping a few details, things he still wasn’t sure about all those years later. “ **I can send Nagini along… if you would like**.”

“ **I may just do that, child. I am not convinced** ,” said Salazar, standing firmly, his hands tucked behind his back. “ **And for the love of magic, straighten your posture**!”

Harry straightened up, his eyes wide as he glanced at the amused expression on Salazar’s face. “ **These attacks… they’re not good and they’re causing a lot of harm, I just want to see if I can get into the Chamber and convince your basilisk to go back to sleep, maybe make her stop attacking other people and rest, that way I can slowly try and rebuild the damage Slytherin image**.”

“ **I see, I see** …” said Salazar, trailing off in one of his more unusual speeches, which no one would be able to translate. “ **I’ll give you my dagger, once you use it, it will vanish back to me. If everything goes as planned, then you may see the dagger once more, but will never be able to remove it from this building, as it’s bound here**.”

Harry watched as the portrait slightly open, revealing a small hole in the wall, inside was a shining silver dagger that had green lines over it in a pattern. He wrapped his small hand around the dagger and felt a warmth, he almost yanked his hand backwards, but the feeling kept him holding it. He stepped back, holding it in his hands and watched as the portrait swung closed.

“ **Good luck, child** ,” said Salazar, a grin on his face.

* * *

Harry spent the next day and a half talking to Salazar Slytherin, learning all about the man and where his other portraits were. The entire Slytherin house seemed to find amusement from the boy walking around the portrait and then speaking to the portrait in some kind of old, forgotten language.

It was so ridiculously Harry that no one questioned how the boy had learned an obscure language and was talking to one of the founders in it. Some were more shocked that the boy hadn’t found something like that sooner.

Harry had been taught a rather old and obviously forgotten, piece of magic, better known as the Translation Charm. He didn’t believe Salazar when the man said that he had invented it, as there wouldn’t have been anything to test it on as the world back then was pretty set in ways. He didn’t push it, but he would change up the spell and fix the restrictions on it once he learned basics behind spell creation.

“Exams will be on the first of June,” said Professor McGonagall, her tone stern. She swept her gaze across her Transfiguration class, hoping to gauge the reaction of various students. She realised that only a few remained in a slight reverie, upset that they hadn’t succeeded in today’s assignment. Those that were awake and held a completed assignment in front of them appeared to be excited about the idea of exams not being cancelled. She glanced towards her star student, not that she’d ever say that out loud and frowned, the boy was looking rather tired and lethargic about something. Over the other side of the room was Hermione Granger, who had perked up the moment the word exam was said. “The tests this year are far more challenging and exhausting than the previous years.”

“Exams?” howled Seamus Finnigan, sounding like Moaning Myrtle. “We’re still getting exams!”

“The entire point of keeping the school open at the current time, Mr. Finnigan, was for you all to continue to receive your education. The exams, which are mandatory, will take place as per usual, and I do trust that each and every one of you are studying as hard as you can,” said Professor McGonagall. Her eyes drifted away from Harry Potter and landed onto Neville Longbottom, a student which she saw as her own son. There was a great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which made her scowl even more darkly. “Professor Dumbledore’s instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible, and that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year.”

Harry couldn’t wait for the exams, despite his outward appearance about them. Yes, he had plenty of his mind, plenty about the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle, Ginny Weasley and that blasted diary of Riddle’s. Riddle had taught him so much new and unique things that a boy his age shouldn’t know, applying to both he and Riddle. He loved knowledge, he loved the thrill of learning something and that was his drive for pushing himself towards any branch of magic that was pushed in front of him.

He felt Slytherin’s Dagger pushed against his hip and he had to stop his snort. Godric used a sword, Salazar a dagger, Rowena a bow, and Helga was far too caring to actually hunt or maim an animal or another human unless provoked. She preferred calm and friendly words and when they failed, she sicced the other three on the target. She was the healer of the four, making up the perfect triangle of a battle group.

Something wasn’t lost on Harry, though. Salazar had a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, a thousand years old. That’s what was attacking students. The basilisk was – is – attacking student son the orders of Tom Riddle and he couldn’t have that. If the basilisk was caught… he just couldn’t fathom what would happen to such a magnificent creature.

It also explained why no one thought about a basilisk going around petrifying people in a school. According to many sources, a basilisk hadn’t been sighted in Europe in well over four hundred years, and the last sighting, which was four hundred years ago, was considered to be a hoax.

Harry was also rather annoyed as Nagini knew that it would have been another snake in the Chamber of Secrets and she never told him. He also put down the random hissing to Nagini muttering to herself about killing rats. How could he be so stupid that he never put two and two together?

He had already turned the cute little white rabbit into a pair of slippers, which wasn’t even the assignment, but he did it anyway. He turned the slippers green and added the crest of Salazar Slytherin on it. He smiled at Professor McGonagall when she just sighed. He flicked his wand and the Transfiguration vanished, leaving the small little bunny who hopped toward shim, tinged green fur with silver stripes.

He wondered if he could swipe this bunny for a companion for Salazar the Bunny.

“I can already sense what you’re thinking, Mr. Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “You may not keep the bunny, it must be returned to Hagrid.”

Harry’s facial expression showed how he felt in that situation. “I wasn’t going to take it, professor, I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Whether the students would start questioning me if I was walking around with a fluffy bunny instead of a snake… it wouldn’t do wonders for my manliness.”

Professor McGonagall shook her head and walked away before she was drawn into a discussion about manliness. The worst thing about what Harry had said was the fact that it was something that James would say, except maybe a little different.

When the bell rang, Harry was the first person out of the class, which was unusual and would draw attention to him, but he had to get across the corridor and down another to get to Weasley’s class, who he needed to speak to urgently. Riddle had urged him to hand over the diary for good this, claiming that both of his bargains were completed, which was partially true.

What Riddle had taught him was almost all of what he’d learn at Hogwarts plus more. He was surprised that the diary was able to drag him into memories and show the spell in detail and teach it in detail, as if Riddle was standing with him and guiding him.

He sifted through the students piling out of lessons and finally caught a glimpse of long red hair, almost the same as his mother’s hair. ‘My wife isn’t having red hair, it’d remind me far too much of mother,’ he thought as he finally caught up to the girl. “Weasley!”

“What do you want, Potter?”

“That’s rather rude, Weasley,” said Harry, grinning at the irate girl. “I was going to give you this back, but, y’know, I may just keep it for myself and see what you’ve been writing about in your little diary.”

Ginny twisted around, ready to lash out at Potter, until she saw the familiar black diary in the boy’s hands. She stared at him a moment before her hand clenched and she glared. She had asked Riddle why she kept misplacing the book, only to find it in random places and he had said that it could be why her memory was going bad and she was simply forgetting more than she realised. “That’s mind.”

“I figured, seeing as I saw it drop out of your bag,” said Harry, amused. “You dropped it way back there and I called out and you never listened. I haven’t looked at it, yet, so quit glaring at me as if I know your biggest secret.”

Ginny glared. “Just give it here, Potter, I don’t wanna be late to my next class.”

Harry tossed the diary at her chest and sent her one last look before he spun around and strode from the corridor, ignoring the curious looks on the faces of the first-year Gryffindors. He realised far too late that he had handled that poorly and that he would most likely get some grief because he didn’t throw around an insult or two.

He made his way downstairs and towards Myrtle’s bathroom in record speed, shifting by anyone who tried to stop him, professors included. He had a few issues with the Weasley twins, who seemed to know where he was going and where he was at all times. But, he was a genius and made it by them with no issues at all, at least this time. He stepped up to the circular sink, ignoring Myrtle and caressed the tap with the engraving of a snake on it. Excitement filled his entire body as he hissed for the sink to open.

He waited and watched as the sink collapsed into the ground, hissing it from view and revealing a rather large pipe that seemed as if it went under the entire school. He waited for some stairs or something to appear, something that would aid him in actually going down as he wasn’t sliding down like some sort of peasant. He heard girls chattering outside the door and he panicked, jumping down the hole in the blink of an eye, hissing for the sink to close.

He scowled when he landed on a pile of disgusting bones and kicked one out of his way as he made his way through the tunnels of the Chamber of Secrets. He was expecting more than a tunnel that looked as if it had been dug by cavemen. Where were the resplendent pillars made of gold and emerald, the statues and defences that should have lined this place? All someone had to do was destroy the sinks and they’d be able to get in. ‘Unbelievable,’ he thought as he walked through the tunnel, looking more and more annoyed with each step. ‘Salazar is going to get a mouthful for not protecting this place better.’

He kept muttering to himself about the abysmal defences, even after passing through another door that opened with Parseltongue. It did confuse him on how arrogant some people can be, assuming that their measly defences were enough. He could’ve bombarded his way through everything in here. Blown apart the sinks and revealed the piping, slid down it and then carved a new tunnel out of the dirt walls that was the Chamber of Secrets.

He gasped when he actually entered the Chamber of Secrets. He glanced around, eyes wide, at the display of such a beautiful room. There were twelve snakeheads, six on each side, as you walked in, greeting you with their deadly green eyes. Most of the Chamber of Secrets was submerged in water that had been tinged green and the ceiling was a dark grey, like a cloud filled sky. There was a massive statue of Salazar Slytherin, which made him scoff and mutter under his breath about needlessly large things. The room felt just like the Slytherin common room did, perhaps just a tad more decorated and nicer looking. There was even a few large window which had nothing behind them, meaning that this once was clearly above ground or something was in there.

He really wanted to explore the chamber, but he only had two hours before his next lessons and he had a lot to get through.

“ **Follow me**!”

Harry glanced around and saw the little snake staring him, looking much like a parent who was scolding their children. He wondered how come a snake was down here and what it was doing. “ **Alright** ,” he hissed, following the snake towards a blank wall. “ **What do we do now**?”

“ **Command the wall to open and then walk through it** ,” hissed the snake, slithering through the wall. “ **I don’t have all day, human, hurry up**.”

Harry glared at the wall where the snake had just vanished through and wondered how he would get the wall open. There were no such things as using magic with Parseltongue, it was a stupid concept that Riddle had thought about, especially after hearing about being able to open the doors and walls to the Chamber of Secrets with the simple command of ‘open’ and ‘close’. He had informed Riddle, of course, that it was a trigger word that caused the locks to vanish and that he had something like it on his trunk, allowing a password to be used. “ **Open** ,” he hissed, watching in awe as the wall turned into a waterlike substance and he walked through, as if the wall was nothing but wisps of smoke. “That was something else.”

“ **I don’t have to explain how you gain access to the inner part, do I**?”

Harry stared at the little snake in amusement. “ **No, that part I know how to die** ,” he hissed. “ **I’m surprised that you can speak so well**.”

“ **I’m not stupid, thank you very much** ,” hissed the little snake, holding its head high. “ **The basilisk helps teach us roamers from time to time, not to mention the man beyond that wall**.”

“ **I didn’t say you were stupid**.”

“ **Be quiet and do what you have to do**.”

Harry rolled his eyes and retrieved the dagger from his hip and gently sliced across his palm. ‘Why is it always the palm?’ he thought, ignoring the stinging sensation. ‘Why not the arm or the thigh?’

“ **Good, good. Well done, Little One**.”

Harry scowled at the name. He glared at the little snake, who was about the size of his arm, and sniffed. He slowly submerged his hand in some sort of potion, which looked entirely transparent and he could see his fingers moving around with ease inside the liquid, whatever it was. He giggled, not that he’d ever admit that, when he felt something crawl over his hand and slip in-between his fingers.

“ **That should be enough** ,” hissed the snake. “ **Well done, Little One. Simply smear your disgusting hand over the wall and you’ll be able to enter. Don’t take too long, else the potion will kill you**.”

Harry lifted his hand out of the potion in a calm manner, slowly lifting it towards the wall and he dragged it across the surface of the wall. A green jet of light hit his hand and the liquid that was over it vanished. The blinding of the jet made him miss what happened, but there was no longer a wall in his way and the room had lit. “ **Thank you** ,” he hissed towards the snake.

“ **One last test… a maze** ,” hissed the snake. “ **Just follow me and I’ll get you there**.”

Harry followed behind at a walk, not wanting to run to keep up to a snake, but the snake got faster and faster as the seconds ticked by and he was running in a full sprint within twenty seconds, trying to keep up to the snake.

“ **Keep up, you’re falling behind**.”

It was three minutes of sprint before Harry collapsed against the wall, wondering how he was able to run so fast for so long without tiring himself out. He panted and cursed the small snake that turned around and was facing him in what appeared to be five seconds. He was far too exhausted to say anything, so he simply sat there panting and glaring at the snake.

“ **Well**?” hissed the snake, sounding bored. “ **Get up**.”

“ **Shove off** ,” hissed Harry, glad that you couldn’t stutter in Parseltongue. “ **This has to be some kind of truck, I’ve run by that pillar three times already**.”

“ **Maybe you’re dying, Little One, going delirious with the lack of natural air** ,” hissed the snake. “ **All alone in the maze of Salazar Slytherin, no one knows where you are**.”

“ **Oh, do shut up, snake** ,” hissed Harry, glaring. “ **This has to be a trick of some sorts. You’ve led me around in circles, always avoiding one path**.”

The snake hissed in disapproval and began slithering off, taking the path that it always avoided.

“ **I knew it** ,” hissed Harry. “ **You were sent to aid me, but not give me all the answers**.”

“ **You figured it out a bit quicker than the others, but you were the only person to run and not demand the snake to slow down**.”

Harry was startled for a moment before he realised that he had made it into the main chamber of the Chamber of Secrets. He glanced around and realised that the room looked like the Slytherin common room, except it had a high roof and no windows in it. The torches burned a green fire and the walls were made of chiselled stone, giving the room a perfectionist look. On the blank wall, there were two portraits, one empty and one containing an amused looking Salazar Slytherin.

“ **What did you think of my chamber**?” said Salazar, looking amused. “ **I trust it was up to your standards**?”

“ **It’s, uh, decent** ,” said Harry, looking like a child who was caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “ **At first, I questioned it, but once I got in a bit, my opinion changed**.”

“ **Oh**?” hissed Salazar. “ **Was the entrance not up to your standards**?”

“ **No** ,” hissed Harry, staring at the portrait. “ **Inside the chamber was, but on the outside? Not even close**.”

“ **Hmph** ,” hissed Salazar, looking amused. “ **Masonry was very different in the times that Hogwarts was constructed. The castle, back then, was considered to be far too exquisite to be functional, with suits of armour and various other small things that the common folk assumed to be unneeded**.”

“ **And no heirs have touched the castle since**?”

“ **Just because you’re an heir doesn’t mean that you could do anything with the castle** ,” said Salazar. “ **That’s foolish talk. An heir has no hidden powers that allow them to use Apparition or any other forms of magic that the castle blocks. My blood clearly runs through you and you’re nothing but a wizard, just as I, Godric, Helga and Rowena were. There’s nothing special for you because you have my blood, just like if you waltzed into Gringotts to touch the vault that my heirs set up, you couldn’t as you’re not a Slytherin by birth nor have you been appointed as an heir**.”

“ **That’s interesting** ,” said Harry. “ **I knew some of that, but not all of it. I mean, the Bloody Baron speaks to me –** ”

“ **He doesn’t speak to you because you’re related to me, child, he speaks to you because he wishes to do so**.”

Harry rolled his eyes and gave the portrait a shrug, ignoring the barked ‘straighten your posture’ from the man. “ **Regardless of the Bloody Baron’s allegiances. I have seen the skin of the basilisk, off in a crevice, hidden by some dead animal bones**.”

“ **Hush, child, and keep your voice at a decent level. I don’t need to hear you screeching and yelling in my face. Children these days, I swear** ,” hissed Salazar, looking irritated yet amused at the same time. The excitement in the boy’s voice was clearly a sign that he was impressed and wanted to meet the basilisk, not use it to kill off his rivals because he’s an idiot and cannot handle criticism. “ **You are my heir, and the last one alive, at least from what I have gathered, and you’ll behave appropriately and not like a three-year-old**.”

“ **I do behave appropriately, but you cannot fault me for being excited at meeting a basilisk that you personally have had a hand in raising** ,” hissed Harry. “ **Regardless, my voice is echoing off the walls and making me appear to be louder than I actually am**.”

Salazar sighed and closed his eyes, attempting to make the boy believe he was annoyed. “ **You know what? We’re far too similar and I feel like we would be going around in circles trying to make the other feel something that isn’t elation** ,” he said, his eyes remaining closed. “ **I do have a favour to ask you, though. As I said before, and countless other times, you’re the only living heir to the Slytherin line and I need you to do something for me**.”

Harry perked up and straightened his back. “What would you like me to do, Salazar?” he asked, looking more eager as each second went by.

“ **Prejudice weakens the mind and tends to make one blind** ,” said Salazar. “ **I must admit that I, and I alone, filled a certain boy’s head with my own prejudice and that made him into what he is today. I had hoped to put fear into the mind of Tom Riddle and cause him to fear Muggles, instead of hating them and doing what the foolish would do and start a war against them**.”

“ **You’re giving me mixed signals here, Salazar**.”

“ **Good**!” hissed Salazar, delighted. “ **Mixed signals will make you think instead of believing yourself a God and using that to lord it over other witches and wizards. I’m sure you have heard tales of your parents, and a few other’s parents, about the man known as Voldemort. The most recent war was nothing compared to everyday life back in my day. The Muggles knew we could do magic and demanded that we aid them using our magic. They were more advanced than us and they remained more advanced for many, many years. Even after a lot of discoveries with magic. You’re a half-blood, and I assume that you have had an upbringing in both magical and Muggle**?”

“ **Yes** ,” replied Harry. “ **Mother decided it best if I knew how both worlds worked. Ignorance is a weakness, after all**.”

“ **I’m sure she didn’t put it that way, but she’s wise beyond what you think you know**.”

“ **Of course** ,” said Harry, looking at the portrait curiously. “ **You’re breaking every stereotype and assumption people had about you**.”

“ **The more time passes, the more something is changed and altered… my story being one of them** ,” hissed Salazar. “ **I wouldn’t even hesitate for a split-second if I had to slaughter a Muggle. There’s a difference between killing in self-defense and killing for the sake of killing. The more unnecessary Muggle deaths there are, the greater the risk that we could be exposed**.”

“ **I guess you’re right** ,” said Harry. “ **Now, what’d you wish for me to do**?”

“ **Youth** ,” muttered Salazar, his tone bitter. “ **So impatient and demanding. I need you, child, to find the Slytherin family tree and strike him from it. He’ll still maintain his gifts, but he’ll no longer be related to us**.”

“ **You want me to disinherit him**?”

“ **That’s such an ugly term, boy, I simply wish for the stains on our family name to be cleansed**.”

“ **Hm… I can do that… but** …”

“ **Out with it, boy**!” said Salazar, looking rather annoyed. “ **I don’t want to hear your dramatic pauses**.”

“ **Won’t he know that he’s been disinherited? I mean, he could come here and attack you or something** ,” said Harry, looking at the portrait with a curious look in his eyes. “ **I mean, he’s currently in the castle, somehow, commanding your basilisk**.”

“ **He has resorted to possession, causing an unknown girl to know the location of the Chamber of Secrets** ,” said Salazar. “ **He’s putting both of us in danger because he’s selfish. I’d ask you to simply kill the girl. You must know this place is called the Chamber of Secrets for a reason, boy, it must remain a secret**!”

“ **Alright, alright**.”

“ **I trust you have a brain and know how to remove him from the family tree**?” asked Salazar, curious. “ **You should know as your father should have taught you at the age of eight**.”

“ **He didn’t, but another person did** ,” said Harry, ignoring Salazar for a moment. “ **Where’s the family tree? A full removal takes a while to complete and I only have an hour or so left**.”

“ **I want him off the tree before you leave this room. I may be dead, but this school is mine and it’ll do what I say! If I want you in here, doing your job, then the school will make you do it**.”

“ **No need to get testy, Salazar, I’ll do it** ,” said Harry, rolling his eyes as he followed the pointed finger by Salazar. “ **That’s quite a tree, if I must say so myself**.”

“ **Did you expect any less**?” said Salazar, glaring at the boy. “ **The Slytherin may not be the longest, nor the oldest, but it has some varying wizards and witches in it**.”

“ **You don’t say – he went on to become one of the ‘lights’ most prominent supporters in the war in 1872** ,” said Harry, running his finger over the name. “ **And not even a generation later, his son went on to oppose him**.”

“ **Less talking, more removing**.”

Harry grunted and began to do what Salazar had asked of him. Removing someone from the family wasn’t exactly a hard process, nor was it by any means easy. He had to first declare himself as the ‘head’ of the family, which would hold zero sway on anything outside of family matters. Because magic was mostly about intent and emotion, he had to feel like he was the head of the family, simply so he could remove the name fully and just not scorch it like the Black family did.

The Black family, as insane as they were, loved family and wouldn’t ever fully disinherit someone, even if they started kissing Dumbledore. Family was, and always will be, important. For the pure-blooded wizards and witches, it’s all that mattered. Family.

Harry ran his hand over his forehead as a small bead of sweat dropped down his nose. He wondered how much longer he’d have to do this until the family tree registered him as the ‘head’ and Tom Riddle as nothing. He did wonder what would happen to him, as he was below Tom Riddle, connecting to no one but said man.

“ **Once he’s gone, my basilisk shall attack him the moment he dares come into the Chamber of Secrets** ,” said Salazar, watching the progress. “ **He will know and will blame you, child, be careful around him and that girl that he’s possessing**.”

* * *

Harry sat in Defence Against the Dark Arts, doodling on his piece of parchment. He listened as Professor Lockhart lectured the slower students in the class in one of his condescending tones that just told the stupid student that they were stupid and should just give up and go live life as a squib. The professor, Lockhart, was still a huge mystery to him as he had no idea whether the man was a fraud or not. He had heard it from Draco and a vast amount of the other students, but he didn’t believe that the man could be a fraud, he was so talented.

Dumbledore had this old man façade going on and no one believed him to be senile. There was something off about Lockhart, but it wasn’t his talent in magic.

“– that’s the end of today’s lesson,” said Professor Lockhart, sending the entire class a charming smile that would have won him another award. “Don’t forget to do your essays that are due next lesson.”

‘There is something off about him,’ thought Harry, his head slightly tilted as he watched the professor, who had just dropped down into his seat, sighing. ‘I just wonder what it is…’

“Don’t all look too eager to leave,” said Professor Lockhart, ignoring the bell that sounded just moments after he paused speaking. “You may leave.”

“– rry, HARRY!” shouted Draco, nudging the boy. “Get up! I know you love lessons, but this is ridiculous. Let’s go, else we’ll miss lunch and then I’ll be hungry!”

“Poor you.”

“Yes, poor me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and set off down the corridor, leaving Draco behind. “Keep up, then,” he called over his shoulder.

He soon found himself in the Great Hall, surrounded by a flood of other students, intent on eating a decent and full meal. Some, the Ravenclaws, already had their books out and were reading while eating as if on autopilot.

“Sit here, Harry,” said Draco, yanking Harry down. “And do be quiet.”

“Here?” whined Harry, looking at the area with disdain. “How come we’re sitting _here_?”

“Because here is in earshot range of the Golden Trio.”

“So?” said Harry, sounding rather bored. “I’m sure they have nothing of importance to discuss at the moment.”

“Unlike you, I was listening to them during Defence Against the Dark Arts and I learned something… something that’ll put us ahead of them.”

“Draco –” he scowled as Professor McGonagall began talking in an amplified voice, making it impossible to have a discussion while she was speaking over everyone. “I’ll tell you later.”

“I have some very good news,” said Professor McGonagall, her posture relaxed and her voice carrying over the Great Hall. “Dumbledore is coming back to the school.”

“You’ve caught the heir of Slytherin?”

“He left?”

There was a shout and then Oliver Wood punched his fist in the air. “Quidditch matches are back on!”

Professor McGonagall, channelling her Albus Dumbledore, silenced the rather large group of students with a simple gesture. She observed them as they all clamped together instead of actually sitting at their respective tables. There was a few, of course, that sat at their tables, but most were standing just below her. “Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are almost ready,” she said, smiling. “In a few days, the people who were petrified will be to be revived. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit.”

Harry ignored the loud and obnoxious cheering, knowing full well that the school could’ve just ordered in the Mandrakes instead of growing the plant themselves. He guessed that the school would rather use its own ingredients, such as a private boarding school should. He watched as the Great Hall doors flew open and Ginny Weasley barged in, somewhat red-faced, and ran towards Neville Longbottom.

“Hey, listen!”

Harry scowled at Draco and shifted towards the conversation between the Golden Trio and Ginny Weasley.

“– matter that we’ve never asked Myrtle, then, will it?” said Ron, glaring at Neville. His eyes softened as he took a deep breath. “Hermione’ll probably have all the answers when she wakes up in a few days. Mind you, she’ll be going on and on about having exams with less than three days of study time. It may just be kinder to leave her where she is until it’s over with, y’know.”

“Ron!”

“I was just looking out for Hermione,” said Ron, looking amused. “What’s up, Ginny?”

Ginny remained quiet, her hand jabbing into Ron’s ribs one last time before she dropped it to her side. Her eyes darted between Ron and Neville, who had both quietened and were watching her with curious expressions. Her facial expression changed and morphed into one a young child would be if they had wondered off in the market and gotten lost.

“Jus’ spit it out, Ginny!” barked Ron, glaring at his sister. “I’ve gotta tell Neville stuff, boy stuff, and I can’t do that if you’re lurking around, can I?”

“I’ve got to tell you something…” mumbled Ginny, staring at the ground.

“What is it?” pushed Neville, his eyes filled with happiness. “You can tell us, Ginny.”

Harry couldn’t hear much more of the discussion and lost interest when a red-faced Percy Weasley barged in, his legs somewhat quivering as he sat down. The boy panted and cut off Ginny whenever she went to speak to Longbottom and her brother, Ronald. He sent the Gryffindor table a sneer and refocused on the discussion at the Slytherin table, who were talking about everything and anything. Despite their reputation, they didn’t discuss diabolical plans at the dinner table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should show you guys the version that I didn't go over. *shudder*. All newer chapters should have much less mistakes and I'll be touching up all the mistakes on older chapters during the revision.
> 
> I'm almost finished with book 3 (currently at chapter 5/10)!


	29. A Gryffindor Approach

Chapter 29 – **A Gryffindor Approach**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 03/September/2016_

* * *

Neville knew that the whole mystery may be finished within the next week without his help, but he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to speak with myrtle, hoping that the wailing ghost could aid him in some manner. He waited a long time for his chance to seek out the ghost and with the professors on such a tight and secure leash, allowing no student to walk around without the aid of a professor.

His chance was Professor Lockhart, who was currently escorting them towards the Gryffindor common room, just coming from History of Magic. It was a beautiful mid-morning day, which said a lot about the usual weather.

Gilderoy Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had passed, only to be proved wrong straight away, was now wholeheartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see them safely down the corridors. His hair wasn’t as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor. “Mark my words, the first words out of those poor petrified people’s mouths will be: _it was Hagrid_ ,” he said to the two Gryffindors that he was escorting. “Frankly, I’m astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary.”

Neville shrugged towards Ron and decided that it would have to be him who got the show on the road. “I agree, sir, all these security measures are just wasting everyone’s time.”

“Thank you, Neville,” said Professor Lockhart rather graciously, while they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. “I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night.”

“That’s right,” said Ron, muttering. “Why don’t you leave us here and allow us to walk back ourselves? It’s only about one or two more corridors to go, nothing’ll happen in that time.”

Neville nodded, sending Ron a proud smile. “I’m sure we can manage, professor, we’re Gryffindors after all and we’re both pure-bloods, so the monster of Slytherin won’t dare attack us.”

“You know, I think Weasley is right,” said Professor Lockhart, sending the two boys an appreciative smile. “I really should go and prepare my next class, after all, it’s going to be a good one, one I’m sure you’ll both appreciate.”

Ron forced a grimace and the smile he got and he watched as the professor scampered around the corner, walking faster than what was standard. “Prepare his class?” he asked, grinning. “More like he’s gonna go and curl his hair.”

Neville and Ron slowed and allowed the rest of the Gryffindors to slowly draw ahead of them, and then they darted down a side passage and hurried off towards Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. However, just as they were congratulating themselves on a well thought-out plan, a stern voice pulled them from their celebrating.

“Longbottom! Weasley! What do you think you’re doing?” said Professor McGonagall, almost towering the two boys. Her lips were finely pursed and her eyes slightly narrowed.

“We were – we were –” stammered Ron, trying to think of an excuse. “We were going to – to go and see –”

“Hermione,” said Neville softly, aware that the eyes of both Ron and Professor McGonagall had snapped towards him, the former in shock and the latter filled with something he didn’t know. “We haven’t seen her in ages, professor, and we just wanted to – we just thought we’d sneak into the hospital wing and, you know, tell her that the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, erm, not to worry about it.”

Professor McGonagall stood silent for a moment, staring blankly at Neville Longbottom, before she snapped out of it and placed her hands on her hips. “Of course, of course,” she said, her eyes flicking between the two boys. “I realise that this has all been hardest on the friends of those attacked. I apologise, boys, for not thinking of this earlier. I saw Mr. Potter in the hospital wing a few days ago, and I wasn’t sure why and then I realised that he had struck up a friendship with Mr. Finch-Fletchley.”

“Potter was there?” asked Ron, going slightly pale.

“He goes there with Mr. Macmillan, I believe, Mr. Weasley.”

“Oh.”

“You may visit Miss. Granger,” said Professor McGonagall, relaxing slightly. “Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission.”

Neville and Ron walked away, not even daring to look back at their head of house and see what her reaction was. Neither of them could believe that they had just gotten away with lying to Professor McGonagall and without a detention for breaking the new rules that had been implemented. A few Ravenclaws had been caught wandering around alone and lost over seventy house points in total.

“That was, by far, the best story you’ve ever come up with, mate,” said Ron, whispering. “I still can’t believe that Potter has been going there… probably to see his handiwork.”

“Ron…”

“Neville, you’ve gotta see it from my point of view, mate, Potter is a slimy, no good, disgusting Slytherin… he knows something and is hiding it from us… just as bad as the attacker, even if he isn’t the attacker.”

“He wouldn’t attack someone he called a friend, though, would he?”

“Maybe Justin ran out of uses?” stated Ron, looking proud. “Trust me, Nev, Potter has a hand in these and I’m never wrong on these things.”

“Your story about him stealing the Philosopher’s Stone is ridiculous, Ron,” said Neville, slightly laughing. “He left after what happened, you know that he’s a Slytherin… they don’t tend to stick around.”

“Yeah, mate, he made off and then wasn’t seen again for most’ve the night,” said Ron, while pushing open the doors to the hospital wing. “Haven’t you noticed that he hasn’t really aged? I mean his dad is tall and Lily ain’t short either, yet he’s tiny.”

“I dunno, Ron.”

Ron sat down next to Hermione, sighing. “I wonder if she saw her attacker, though,” he said, examining his other best friend. “Because if he sneaked up on them, like most are saying, then no one could have any answers about it.”

“Hermione’ll have something when she wakes up, Ron, she always does.”

“You’re right,” said Ron, examining Hermione, making sure that Madam Pomfrey wasn’t lurking around as the woman usually did. She had stared at them for a minute before muttering about petrified people being unable to hear what was said.

Neville finally got the courage to look at Hermione, without feeling guilty that this had happened to her. He avoided her face, not liking the fearful expression that was present. He stared at her hand, which was pushed out in front of her body, as if she was holding something in front of her. “Do you remember the time she hit you with a book because you called her ‘Mione and she hates the nickname or any odd abbreviation of her name?”

“Don’t remind me, mate,” said Ron, laughing. “My head still hurts from where she hit me with Hogwarts: A History.”

“You deserve it, though,” said Neville. “We both do because we do it to annoy her. D’you know that almost all of our year calls her ‘Mione now?”

“Oh, Merlin!”

Neville laughed into his hand smiled at Hermione. “We’d’ve been lost without her in our first-year, y’know… Snape’s challenge would’ve stumped us both for days.”

“Mate, it’s been a year and despite what she’s said about it, I don’t understand even a small bit of it.”

“Ron, can you see that?”

Ron peered forwards at what Neville was pointing at. “I can, what is it?”

“It looks like a bit of parchment, maybe her homework?” said Neville, poking at the piece of parchment with his index finger. “It may come loose if I prod at it a bit more.”

Ron was on the fence about taking the piece of parchment. He respected Hermione and her secrets, but he was curious. “Try and get it out,” he said while searching in case Madam Pomfrey appeared. “I’ll let you know if she’s coming.”

“Block her view from me, will you?”

“Right!”

Neville gripped the corner of the parchment and let out a sigh triumphant sound as he tugged it out. It wasn’t an easy task, and it took a while, but he got it. Hermione’s hand was clamped so tightly around the parchment that he was pretty sure he was going to tear it whenever he attempted to pull it out. He flicked his head up and watched Ron, who was looking out for him. “Got it,” he said, grinning. “Oh…”

“What is it, Neville?” asked Ron, leaning in to read the piece of parchment.

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

Beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand Neville recognised as Hermione’s.

 _Pipes_.

It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain. “Ron, this is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber’s a basilisk – a giant serpent! That’s why I’ve been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It’s because I understand Parseltongue…”

Ron gave a curious look around at the beds, his brain working overtime at the clue that he had just been told. “But…” he trailed off, unsure of how he should start to decipher the clue.

Neville nodded at Ron, understanding. “The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one’s died – because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got petrified. Justin… Justin must’ve seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn’t die again… and Hermione and that Ravenclaw Prefect were found with a mirror next to them. Hermione had just realised the monster was a basilisk. I bet you anything she warned the first person she met to look around corners with a mirror first! And that girl pulled out her mirror – and –”

Ron swallowed rather loudly, he glanced around quickly, leaning in. “And Mrs. Norris?” he whispered eagerly. “What about her?”

Neville thought hard, picturing the scene on the night of Hallowe’en. “The water… the flood from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection,” he scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more he looked at it, the more it made sense. “The basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it!” he read aloud. “Hagrid’s roosters were killed! The heir of Slytherin didn’t want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! Spiders flee before the basilisk! It all fits!”

“But how’s the basilisk been getting around the place?” asked Ron, tapping his chin. “A dirty great snake… I’m sure someone would’ve seen it.”

Neville, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled at the foot of the page. “Pipes… pipes… Ron, it’s been using the plumbing. I’ve been hearing that voice inside the walls.”

Ron suddenly grabbed Neville’s arm. “The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!” he said hoarsely. “What if it’s a bathroom? What if –”

“– it’s in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” finished Neville, his face flashed with different emotions. He and Ron sat there, excitement coursing through them, hardly able to believe it. “This means that I can’t be the only Parselmouth in the school. The heir of Slytherin’s one, too. That’s how they’ve been controlling the basilisk.”

“What’re we gonna do, Neville?” asked Ron, looking rather distressed. “D’we go to Professor McGonagall and see if she can help us or something? Maybe even Dumbledore.”

“He’s not back yet, Ron, I heard he’s coming back tomorrow.”

Ron stood silent for a moment. “Oh.”

“Let’s go to the staff room,” said Neville, jumping from the chair that he’d been sitting on. The chair made a horrid scraping noise as it was pushed against the white tiles. “Professor McGonagall should be there in around ten minutes, it’s nearly break.”

They ran out of the hospital wing and downstairs at a breakneck speed, getting lost twice before a ghost aided them in the direction they needed. Ron pushed open the door to the staff room and made a noise of surprise at how nice and detailed the empty room was. The room was large and panelled with dark wood around the base of the walls. The ceiling was pressed high and had a rather antique-looking chandelier hanging by twisted chains, hovering above the large wooden table. There was an abundance of chairs placed in the room and around the table, almost enough to seat the entire first-year, second-year and third-year students.

“Wow!”

“Tell me about it, Neville, this room is amazing.”

Neville and Ron sat down for three minutes before they started to pace, far too excited to remain seated. They waited for the bell to signal, despite the fact that the clock on the wall signalled the bell to be around two minutes late. It never came.

Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall’s voice, magically magnified. “All students to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please.”

Neville wheeled around to stare at Ron. “Not another attack? Not now?”

“What’ll we do?” said Ron, a look of shock on his face. “Go back to the dormitory?”

“No, no. No, let’s stay here and tell the professors what we know.”

“Can we at least hide or something? They’ll barge in and start questioning us.”

“Good idea, Ron,” said Neville, glancing around the room. “Look – there, that dusty cupboard.”

They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staffroom door banging open. From between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

“Minerva!” said Professor Sprout, looking rather frazzled. “Not another attack, surely…”

“A student has been taken by the monster,” said Professor McGonagall. “Right into the Chamber of Secrets.”

Professor Flitwick let out a high-pitched sound, a manly squeal. He attempted to speak, but no words seemed to form and he just remained silent, shocked.

Professor Snape, who had been glaring at the table, gripped the back of the chair he was sitting on. “How can you be sure, Minerva?”

“The heir of Slytherin left another message, much like the first, it was written in blood, under the first message,” said Professor McGonagall, her face pale and her hands shaking. “For his betrayal, his body will lie in the Chamber of Secrets forever. His sacrifice, if it could be called that, will be worth the pain and suffering.”

Professor Flitwick squeaked, falling backwards in the process, tears welled in his large eyes.

“Who is it, Minerva?” asked Madam Hooch, her eyes flicking between each student. She had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair the moment the message had been repeated. “Please, Minerva, tell us who was taken.”

“Minerva…”

Professor McGonagall, unaware of the two boys in the robe cupboard, let out a sigh, wondering how she could break it to the man that was staring at her with those dark eyes of his. She was by no means a weak-willed witch and she knew the news would send the said man into a frenzy and they both knew it. She knew that Severus knew what she was going to say and he was just waiting for the verbal confirmation.

Neville briefly wondered who was taken into the Chamber of Secrets and why Professor McGonagall was giving Snape such pitying looks. He always had the feeling that Snape could read minds and James had said something about never looking Snape in the eye, but he never took it for granted. He watched as the staff remained silent and brooded on what was going on.

“WHAT!”

“Severus –”

“It cannot be him, Minerva, he’d never do something so utterly foolish to anger whatever the monster is doing!”

Neville sighed, saddened that he’d missed the name because of Ron. He leaned forwards, hoping for another clue.

“There has to be something more to this,” said Professor Snape, glaring at the large table. “I know him like I know myself and I can safely say that he and I are alike and neither of us would be so foolish to do something like this!”

Professor McGonagall frowned and tilted her head slightly. “We’ll have to send all the students home tomorrow,” she said, shaking her head slightly. Her tone was soft and not in her usual strict tone. “I don’t want to, but it’s the best course of action. This is the end of Hogwarts, sadly. Dumbledore always said that –”

The staffroom door banged open, startling half the occupants inside. For a flicker of a moment, the professors, and two hidden students hoped it was Dumbledore. It wasn’t to be, and in strut Lockhart, who was beaming at them all. “So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?”

Professor Snape instantly stood up, his dark eyes narrowed on the curly-haired man in front of him. “A child has been taken by the monster into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your… moment has come at last, Lockhart.”

Professor Lockhart blanched, his eyes darting between each professor in the room. When the greasy-haired man took a step towards him, he hastily took one backwards. “Oh – well – I see.”

“YOU WILL –”

“Severus, that’s not needed,” chided Professor McGonagall, her stare was almost as impressive as the Potions Professor. “We’ll allow Mr. Lockhart some time to prepare and then he’ll lead us – all of us – to the Chamber of Secrets and we’ll save the student that has been taken.”

“V-very well, I’ll – I’ll be in my office, getting – getting ready.”

Professor Snape watched the man retreat. “That’s that blithering moron out of our sight and mind, we’ll be able to come up with something. How Harry is still fooled by that man’s façade is beyond me.”

“Mr. Potter believes that Lockhart is a talented wizard?” asked Professor Flitwick. “He’s not blinded by the man’s looks is he?”

Professor Snape scowled. “The man’s supposed talent. He can be a little blind when he believes something. It is, no doubt, one of his more charming qualities.”

“Professor McGonagall snorted. “The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure that no students have been left outside their dormitories?”

There was a soft noise of agreement before Professor Snape stood and muttered about contacting Lily and James Potter.

* * *

Harry slowly regained focus as he blinked open his eyes, pain surging throughout his entire body. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds before his vision steadied himself and he felt comfortable enough to stand without getting dizzy and falling on his bottom. He felt the side of his body dripping water and he looked down, noticing the familiar water soaked tiles of the Chamber of Secrets. Looking around, he smiled when he noticed the torches slowly lighting one by one, signalling his entrance.

He spun on his heel when he heard something and he glanced down at the slightly shaking form of Ginny Weasley. He sneered at her and debated about kicking her in the face for daring to attack him and then intrude into his Chamber. His eyes glazed over the diary that was clenched tightly in her hands, as if her life depended on the diary. ‘Serves her right, to be honest,’ he thought bitterly, studying the unconscious girl. However, he knew that her death would bring back the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and he couldn’t have that as the man would threaten his mother and ruin the plans that he had set in motion.

He circled around the now still form of Ginny Weasley, debating on what he could do to delay Voldemort’s return, knowing full well that the man would return, any small study on the man could prove the theory that he called himself immortal and the diary had explained Horcruxes to him as a part of their deal.

There was one giant issue that persisted through his thoughts. Ginny Weasley, a Gryffindor, was in his beloved Chamber, tainting it with her presence. He wouldn’t stand for it any longer.

* * *

Today was by far the worst day of Neville’s life, even worse than the day that Voldemort gave him the scar that made him famous for all the wrong reasons. After the meeting that he and Ron had overheard in the staff room between the professors, which had escalated once Professor Lockhart and Professor Snape and left, they had learned which student was taken and how they were taken. When they had the name ‘Harry Potter’ Ron had begun to start complaining that he was right and that it had been Potter all along, forgetting that the person who had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets was a male and therefore it was Harry who was taken.

That wasn’t all, though, especially not for poor Ron, who was livid enough already. They had learned that it was Ron’s sister, Ginny, was the one to doing the abduction. A fourth-year Hufflepuff had witnessed the duel that took place and the speed and skill that Ginny had cast spells, some that weren’t even on the curriculum. A few portraits backed up the Hufflepuff.

Neville knew that something was amiss when he learned that Ginny had beaten Harry, not that Harry was unbeatable, but it seemed highly unlikely, especially with how much Harry spent studying magic in his free time. He was agreeing with the Hufflepuff and assuming some sort of possession.

Fred and George had joined Neville and Ron, who were sitting in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, with expressions that didn’t usually accommodate their faces. They were usually smiling and grinning, not looking like someone had kicked their puppy. Neither of the four said anything, not daring to hold a conversation. Percy, the eldest brother currently at Hogwarts, wasn’t there and he had no plans on being there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory.

“She knew something,” said Ron, watching as the twins retreated with a struggled step. “I just know it, I can feel it, y’know.”

Neville looked over towards Ron. “I reckon,” he said, thinking back to the moment. “D’you remember when she came up to us, looking as if she had something to say?”

“Oh yeah! Percy kept cutting her off whenever she’d say something.

Neville stared at Ron for a moment, wondering what was going through his head.

“Do you know what? I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He’s going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it’s a basilisk in there.”

Neville didn’t question the constant topic changing, nor did he wish to comment on it. He understood what Ron was going through and he didn’t want to make it more complicated or harder for his friend. In the past twenty minutes, Ron had learned that his sister was in the Chamber, supposedly possessed and having kidnapped another student. He cared a lot for the green-eyed, black-haired boy known as Harry Potter, even if the boy was mean, rude, cold, and any other form of the word. He liked Harry’s honesty.

“Are you coming, Neville?”

Neville jolted, not realising that Ron had already stood and was now hovering over him, a concerned expression on his face. “Yeah – yeah, I’m coming.”

“Good,” said Ron, smiling. He held out his hand and pulled the boy up. “I know it’s a hard process, but we’ll save Ginny and prove that she didn’t do it.”

“And Harry, Ron, we’ve gotta save him too!”

“Does he really matter?” said Ron, looking away from Neville. “He’s a Slytherin, Nev, I’m sure that he and one of his slimy friends had a hand in this and the entire situation is reversed and it was Potter that took Ginny, opened the Chamber of Secrets and then kidnapped her to blame her.”

“But…” started Neville before trailing off on whatever thought he was going to suggest. He wasn’t exactly sure how to explain his need to save Harry, it was like some sort of brotherly instinct to save the boy, despite the fact they weren’t related. It could also be because of Lily and James, not wanting either of them to feel bad about their son being injured. Draco Malfoy, despite the animosity between them, was another that he wanted to save Harry for. The blond boy looked absolutely crushed without Harry around, like his entire world had been flipped and he was now poor and had no money. It was a bad comparison, but he couldn’t think that Malfoy would look so distraught if you kicked his puppy.

“You heard what McGonagall said, right?” said Ron, his tone firm. “‘For his betrayal, his body will lie in the Chamber of Secrets forever’.”

“I heard –”

“For his betrayal!” repeated Ron, stressing the words as much as he could. “Potter clearly betrayed Slytherin somehow, whether the heir or not and now he’s supposedly suffering for it. Maybe he betrayed people by petrifying them instead of killing them.”

“Wouldn’t that make him a good person?” said Neville, thinking out loud. “If he betrayed the heir and petrified instead of killed, then he cannot be held responsible.”

Ron huffed and gave Neville a poor imitation of Hermione’s annoyed looks.

Neville didn’t bother continuing to argue in Harry’s defence. He had learned early that it just made Harry annoyed if you fought to defend him, even when he was little, he was always rather independent. “Let’s go,” he said to Ron, trying to not look around the Gryffindor common room, who all seemed to be down. “We’ll go and see Lockhart, he said he knew something.”

They go through the portrait hole without any issue, most likely due to the fact that everyone felt sorry for the Weasleys. Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart’s office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps. Neville knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart’s eyes peering through it.

“Oh… Mr. Longbottom… Mr. Weasley…” said Professor Lockhart softly, opening the door a mite wider. “I’m rather busy at the moment. If you would be quick.”

Neville sighed in relief. “Professor, we’ve got some information for you,” he said eagerly. “We think that it’ll help you out with your upcoming challenge.”

“Err – well – it’s not terribly – I mean – well – all right,” stammered Professor Lockhart. He opened the door and watched as the two Gryffindors entered.

Neville glanced around the office, expecting to see portraits of Lockhart lining the walls, but he saw nothing of the sort. The office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade green, lilac, midnight blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, staring at the professor.

“Err, well, yes. Urgent call… unavoidable… got to go…” said Professor Lockhart as he rolled up a life-sized photograph of himself from the door.

“What about my sister?”

“And Harry,” added Neville, smiling over Ron’s shoulder. “You’ve gotta save them both, professor, you just have to!”

“Well, as to that – most unfortunate,” said Professor Lockhart, tossing something else into his trunk. He wrenched open a drawer and emptied the things into a bag. “No one regrets it more than I, but –”

“You’re the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!” said Neville, his voice lifting slightly. “You cannot leave now! Not with all the dark things that are going on now.”

“Well, I must say… when I took the job… nothing in the job description… didn’t expect…” muttered Professor Lockhart, throwing socks onto the top of his robes.

“You mean you’re running away?” said Neville disbelievingly. “After all that stuff you did in your books?”

“Books can be… very misleading,” said Professor Lockhart delicately. Both his eyes trained directly on Neville.

“You wrote them!” shouted Neville, throwing one of Lockhart’s books from the table to the floor.

“My dear boy. Do use your common sense,” said Lockhart, staring at Neville. “My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a hairy chin. I mean, come on.”

“So you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?” asked Neville incredulously.

“Look!” shouted Ron, causing the other two to jump slightly. “You’ll listen to what we’ve got to say and then you’ll come with us and check it out before we stun you and drag you to Dumbledore.”

“Stun me?” laughed Professor Lockhart. “I don’t think so, boy, you’ll do what I say.”

Ron tensed slightly, he turned towards Neville, hoping that his friend had an idea to get Lockhart to agree to something.

“I have an idea, professor,” started Neville, thinking of what Harry would do in this situation. His brain instantly told him manipulation. “How about you come with us to investigate the Chamber, as we think we know where it is, and once we save Ginny and Harry, we’ll back you up and you’ll be able to publish another book.”

Professor Lockhart stood as still as a statue for a brief moment, wondering how to deal with this situation. “I don’t understand your motive, children…”

“It’s two on one, professor, both Ron and I have been taught by James Potter, the Head Auror, recently in duelling, so we know spells that others don’t.”

“What would you like me to do?” muttered Lockhart weakly, his weedy looking eyes staring straight at Neville. “I have no idea where the Chamber of Secrets is, Neville. There’s honestly nothing that I can do.”

“You’re in luck then professor,” said Neville grinning, gesturing towards the door. “We think we know where it is and how to gain access.”

“You do?”

“Yep, and you’re gonna come with us to check it out.”

Neville and Ron began to lead Lockhart towards the Chamber of Secrets, or at least they hoped. The walk towards Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom was almost painfully silent, the only noise was the sounds of three sets of shoes clicking against the stone floor.

“Oh… it’s only you,” said Moaning Myrtle, looking at the three intruders sceptically. She was sitting on the cistern of the end toilet. “What do you want this time?”

Neville regarded the ghost for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “Myrtle, I just wanted to ask – to ask how you died.”

Myrtle’s whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question. “Ooh, it was dreadful. It happened right in here. I died in this very cubicle. I remember it so well. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then… I died.”

“How?” asked Ron, standing behind Neville, his face had gone a slight paler than usual. “You just… died?”

“No idea,” said Myrtle, her tone hushed, as if she was sharing a secret. “I just remember seeing a pair of great big yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away… and then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she’d ever laughed at my glasses.”

“Wait!” called out Neville, startling both Lockhart and Ron. “You said that you heard someone come in, a boy, and then he said something in a different language, what’d it sound like?”

“I don’t know…” said Myrtle sadly, she trailed off with a slight whine in her tone before stopping. “I hadn’t ever heard of a language like that before.”

“Has anyone else came in here and spoken the same language recently?” asked Neville, looking between Myrtle and Ron.

“Not that I have seen,” said Myrtle, humming. “Not that anyone would ever tell me anything like that.”

“Alright, alright. Where exactly did you see the great big yellow eyes, Myrtle?” asked Neville, quickly changing the topic before the ghost got distraught. That was the last thing that he wanted.

Myrtle spun almost instantly from the three boys and gestured at the circular sink. “Somewhere around there,” she said almost happily, as she always did when she spoke about death.

Neville and Ron instantly hurried over towards the circular sink, which was placed dead in the center of the room. The former began to touch the individual taps while the latter stood around awkwardly, hoping for some result.

Neville approached the circular sinks once more, after taking a step back, they looked like ordinary sinks. He examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then he saw it: scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

“That tap has never worked,” said Myrtle brightly, even snickered when the boy tried to turn it. “I told you.”

Ron moved up to investigate the tap and the marking. He stood still for what appeared to be a few seconds before he snapped from the daze. “Neville… say something – say something in Parseltongue!”

“But…” Neville trailed off, staring at the silver serpent that was engraved expertly into the sink. He had only ever spoken Parseltongue once, and that was when facing a snake. Of course with Hermione’s help, he had done a little study on the subject, but he never wanted to speak the language again. “I don’t – I don’t think I can, Ron,” he stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real. “Open!” he turned to Ron, disappointment plastered over his face.

Ron shook his head. “That was English. Try again.”

Neville turned back to the sink, determination covered his face. He looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it was moving. “ **OPEN**!” the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move. The sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into. “I’m going down there,” he muttered, ignoring Ron’s gasp. He couldn’t go, not now they had found the entrance to the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny and Harry might be alive.

“I’m coming down too,” said Ron, snapping both Lockhart and Neville from their thoughts. After a pause, both he and Neville spun around and faced Lockhart.

“W-well done, boys,” said Lockhart, studying the hole on the floor from a safe distance away. “How’re we going to get down there?”

“I thought you’d be a little more hesitant about this, sir,” said Neville, surprised.

“At first, I was, but now I’ve got a chance to explore and expose the legendary Chamber of Secrets. Imagine the press and awards I’ll get.”

Ron snorted and shifted closer towards the hole. “I don’t s’pose you know any spells that’ll help us get down there?”

“Not at all, Weasley,” said Professor Lockhart. “I doubt the heir of Slytherin slid down the tunnel…”

Ron scoffed. “The entrance is in the girls’ bathroom,” he stated. “I doubt they care whether they slide down or not.”

“You know,” started Lockhart. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“A bad feeling about saving the son of the Head Auror?” said Neville, smiling. “Imagine the press and awards you’ll get for it.”

“Even if the Head Auror’s son is a little sh –”

Neville coughed, covering up what Ron had said. “Just imagine it: you, Professor Lockhart, rushing down a pipe in order to save a boy, the son of the Head Auror, without thought. You go first and we’ll agree to anything you write, no matter how degrading it is to us.”

Lockhart licked his lips and jumped down the pipe.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Potter, mate,” said Ron, slowly moving towards the pipe.

“It was better than throwing him down the pipe,” said Neville, grinning.

“It really is quite disgusting down here.”

“That was Lockhart’s voice,” said Ron. “Doesn’t seem like the pipe is that long.”

“Right, let’s go,” said Neville, jumping down the pipe. It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniffs* sorry for any remaining errors. I've had the flu for the whole week and it's hard to check when you're sneezing and coughing and gah. The last chapter won't be posted until I finish book 3, which is almost done. Once the final chapter is up, you can binge read 8 chapters of book 3.


	30. Riddle Me This, Riddle Me That

Chapter 30 – **Riddle Me This, Riddle Me That**

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

_Rewritten: 15/September/2016_

* * *

Harry felt something, something he couldn’t explain, and instantly jolted upwards, standing up from where he was sitting. He had stolen Weasley’s wand and tucked it in his waistband to his trousers, knowing no one would dare try and snatch it from there. The something in his head was still ringing and kept ringing, which was distracting him from actually thinking about what was going on. He made his way towards the wall where Salazar’s portrait was and hastily moved through, hoping that the man could explain what was going on. He cursed his luck, using a word that would’ve made Narcissa hit him with an overpowered Cleaning Charm, which would’ve made him spit bubbles for a month.

Salazar’s portrait was empty.

‘Of course,’ he thought, twisting around on his feet and heading back into the main chamber. He rushed back towards Ginny Weasley, covering her in water from his hastened steps in the process, not that he cared about her. His foot connected with Weasley’s hand and flung the diary from her grasp. The dairy slid across the water covered floor and flipped open.

He glanced around the Chamber, confused on what he could do. He ignored Ginny Weasley, which was a bad thing as he missed the slightly transparent, ghostly liquid that began to seep from the now open diary. Of course, he still didn’t notice as the transparent mist began to form into a human, a rather handsome looking human boy.

He did, however, notice that three other people had entered his Chamber and were now sprinting across the Chamber towards the unconscious form of the Ginny Weasley. “Longbottom… here to save the day, are you?” he taunted, staring directly at the boy in question. “Professor Lockhart, I’m sure this little adventure is far beneath your capabilities.”

“Ginny!” shouted Ron, dropping onto his knees with a slide across the watery cobblestone. “Ginny! Don’t be dead! Please don’t be dead, Ginny!”

“I’m so touched that you asked if I was okay, Weasley,” said Harry, staring in amusement. He watched as Ron grabbed out his wand and prodded it into Ginny’s side before tossing it away in despair. The wand slid across the ground, rolling to a stop a fair distance away. He made his way towards it and picked it up, studying it.

Ron quickly grabbed onto Ginny’s shoulders and gave her a quick shake. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn’t petrified. But then she must be –

“Ginny, please wake up!” continued Neville for Ron, who had choked on a sob at his own thoughts. “Harry… please help us.”

Harry sneered at the two wizards and one unconscious witch, ankle deep in water, begging. “She kidnapped me, Longbottom. She threw spells at my back while I was walking away from her, not wanting to associate with her and then she dragged me here and then collapsed. Forgive me for not wanting to aid the possessed girl who attacked me,” he thought about it for a moment more before sighing. “She can die for all I care.”

“Ginny, please wake up,” muttered Neville desperately, shaking her. Ginny’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

“She won’t wake.”

Neville jumped and spun around on his knees. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. The boy was strangely blurred around the edges, as though he was looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him. He studied the boy carefully, just noticing the similarities between this boy and Harry. “Tom – Tom Riddle?”

Tom nodded towards Neville, before he turned his face towards Harry, about to speak.

“What do you mean, she won’t wake?” said Neville desperately. “She’s not – she’s not –”

Tom turned his head back towards Neville. “She’s still alive… but only just.”

Neville stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen. “Are you a ghost?” he said uncertainty. His eyes flickered between Harry and Tom, noticing that they seemed to be standing almost similar. It was a foolish suspicion. He focused back on Tom, holding his eyes.

“A memory, preserved in a diary for fifty years,” said Tom softly, softer than he was speaking just moments ago. He pointed towards the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary.

“You’ve got to help me, Tom,” said Neville, raising Ginny’s head again. “We’ve got to get her out of here. There’s a basilisk… I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment. Please, help me…”

Tom didn’t move, instead he shifted and picked up the wand that Neville had dropped in his haste to pick up Ginny, or more like his shock when he saw Ginny. A smile curled the corners of his mouth. He continued to stare at Neville, twirling the wand idly.

“Listen!” said Neville urgently, his eyes trained straight on Tom Riddle. His knees sagged slightly with Ginny’s dead weight. “We have got to go! If the basilisk comes!”

“It won’t come until it’s called,” replied Tom, keeping his eyes trained on Neville, despite the feeling that he wished to turn to Harry Potter and glare at him.

Neville lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer. “What do you mean?” He said, staring at Tom with a questioning look. “Look, give me my wand, I might need it.”

Tom’s smile broadened. “You won’t be needing it –”

“Even with his wand, Longbottom would be just as useless as Weasley in this situation,” interrupted Harry, remaining silent for so long was making him edgy. “Honestly, Longbottom, you’re clueless to what’s going on here. He has your wand, you moron, clearly he’s not going to play nice with you.”

Neville stared at Harry. “What do you mean, Harry?”

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Neville Longbottom,” said Tom, completely ignoring Harry. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.”

“Look, Tom, you don’t get it. We’re in the Chamber of Secrets… we can talk a little later,” said Neville, staring at the ghostly figure. His eyes hardened slightly when he heard Harry laugh. “Be quiet, Harry.”

“We’re going to talk now,” said Tom, pocketing Neville’s wand in the process.

“How’d Ginny get like this, Tom?” asked Neville very slowly, as if addressing a child. His eyes shifted between Ginny and Tom Riddle, as if trying to connect something.

“Well, now that’s an interesting question,” said Tom with a pleasant smile. “And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley’s like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.”

“What are you talking about?” barked Ron from the side. “What are you talking about?”

Harry suppressed a snort from the repeated question and began looking around, trying to figure something out. His eyes lock onto Professor Lockhart, who was standing there unforgotten.

“The diary… my diary,” said Tom, gesturing at the thing. “Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes: how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with second-hand robes and books, how – how she didn’t think famous, good, great Neville Longbottom would ever like her. It’s very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl. But I was patient. I wrote back, I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. ‘No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom… I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in… It’s like having a friend I can carry round in my pocket.’”

Off to the side, Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. Of course, he knew that Weasley had written in the dairy and that was the reason for her declining health. He also knew that she was a fool for writing in an object that could change and adapt to you and make you feel safe, secure, and not alone. Sure, he had written in the dairy, but he, unlike Weasley, was talented and a genius, therefore wouldn’t be controlled by a mere diary. He lifted his head from the floor when he heard tom laughing, a very high and a very cold sounding laugh.

“If I say it myself, Neville, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss. Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss. Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her…” Tom continued to speak, more to himself than anyone else in the room. Of course, he stopped the moment someone dared to interrupt his musings.

“What do you mean?” asked Neville, his mouth had gone very dry. He could feel Ron’s anger increase every time Harry laughed.

“Haven’t you guessed yet, Neville Longbottom?” said Tom softly, as if he were talking to an uneducated child. “Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat.”

Harry was already bored and tired of this little conversation. There was nothing that Riddle could do down here, even with Ginny’s mediocre ability in magic. The power Riddle had leeched from Weasley wouldn’t be enough to get him out of here and he’d need another Parselmouth to get him to leave, as Weasley didn’t possess that ability and it wouldn’t pass on if he used her body. He knew that it was possible, in very minor sense, to pass on abilities, but it came with a terrible risk and it could backfire in the simplest ways. Not to mention the ritual required you to do some nasty things, such as maim your own body with unhealable scars.

The serpent, which he didn’t know the name for, wouldn’t come unless she was called by him, and that’s why he was kidnapped, to help Riddle escape. He had to compliment Riddle’s planning ability. He also realised at that moment that Riddle had no idea that he had been stricken from the family tree.

He turned around, finally breaking his silent musings, only to find three words, made of wisps of fire, hovering in the air. The words that hung in the air were simple wrote, in the familiar scrawl of Tom Riddle: _TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_ and in the next moment they began to rearrange slowly, drawing up suspense into the words: _I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_. He couldn’t help but snort, making your name an anagram, what a waste of time. He could just imagine the boy sitting down making up anagrams from his name as he went on with his day.

Leaning against the nearby statue of Salazar, it was shortly after this revelation that everything began to get wild. He watched in amusement as Gilderoy trained his wand on the two Gryffindors.

“You must understand, boys, that I cannot trust you to not expose me,” said Lockhart. “I saw through your ploy the moment you started and I played my part well, too well in fact.”

“S’what, you’re just gonna kill us?”

“No, Weasley, I’m simply going to Obliviate you multiple times and drive you insane and then you’ll spend your days rambling in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries,” said Professor Lockhart, waving around his wand.

“You’re useless,” blurted out Ron. “We’ve seen you in lessons and duels and you were going to flee.”

“Flee?” repeated Lockhart. “I was packing as my contract ended soon. You two just so happened to come and blubber to me about this instead of going to another professor and look where that got you.”

“So you’re not a fraud?” said Neville. “You said earlier on that you were.”

“I said what you wanted to hear, Longbottom, if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve trusted me,” said Lockhart. “It was hard to play a blithering idiot, but that’s what people expect. D’you think I could be bested by Severus Snape, of all people? I made sure that the students fawned over me yet lacked fear of my ability. The Sorting Hat wanted me in Slytherin, but my Ravenclaw qualities outshined my manipulative side.”

“That’s nice to know…”

Lockhart was in the middle of some spell when he was lifted into the air and tossed at the large statue of Salazar Slytherin, a splatter of blood from his head appeared and smeared across the statue.

“NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM IS MINE TO KILL!” roared Tom, Neville’s wand pointing lazily towards the statue. “I, Lord Voldemort, will be the one to kill Longbottom, not some meddlesome actor.”

Harry watched as Lockhart slowly came to, blinking. He had noticed that Lockhart’s spell had started and began to fire when Riddle had hit his spell back at him and sent him hurling through the air. He briefly wondered whether the airy expression on Lockhart’s face was because of a concussion or because he no longer had any memory. There’s a reason why self-Obliviation isn’t a thing.

Lockhart began looking around the Chamber in complete awe. He swished his hands through the ankle deep water and splashed it around, as if he was a child.

That confirmed Harry’s theory. Lockhart had no memory and was relying on basic human instincts. Interesting. He realised that he could lock Lockhart down here and teach the man and raise him into being a personal weapon or slave. Both sounded appealing.

A familiar song-like sound echoed through the Chamber, ruining his reverie, lifting his head he saw Fawkes, bringing the Sorting Hat.

“This is what the supposed great Dumbledore sends his little defender?” sneered Tom, a cold laugh echoed off the walls. “A song-bird and the old School Hat.”

“Now, now, Tom, let’s not be too harsh against Dumbledore,” said Harry, taking a hasty step forwards, unintentionally splashing Lockhart with water. “You should be intelligent enough to know that a phoenix is a rather huge threat and Dumbledore taming one, a feat you haven’t done, is to be praised, not sneered at.”

“A phoenix is no match for my basilisk!” spat Tom, completely disregarding the words that had been said to him. “The very same basilisk that you, Harry Potter, will call for me.”

“Your basilisk?” repeated Harry, looking rather amused about that. “If it’s _your_ basilisk, then you’ll call it and not me. I’m not your slave.”

“Potter!”

“Oh, right,” continued Harry. “You can’t call the basilisk. That’s rather anticlimactic, isn’t it? Shouldn’t there be some massive battle between phoenix and basilisk and now? Nothing.”

“Be quiet, you incompetent child! I ask for one thing and you, with your incompetence, ruin it and ruin everything!” hissed Tom, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t expect much less from a Potter… all that lineage does is produce wizards that get in the way and ruin the best laid plans with their clumsiness!”

Harry snorted.

“Your father is a prime example,” said Tom, a smirk pulled at his sharpening lips. “I assume you’ll be following in your father’s footsteps, an Auror onto Head Auror, soon enough the cycle will repeat and it’ll be you who ignores their child.”

Harry stiffened, his feet stopping mid-step, his eyes widened. “What’d you just say?”

“Neville Longbottom wrote a lot about you, some rather… interesting things, mind,” started Tom, lifting his hand to make tick things off his fingers as he said them. “He explained that your father, James Potter, was the Head Auror and that one day he himself would follow in your father’s footsteps, of course he made small comments on the fact he felt you were pretty much raised by your mother.”

“That’s completely irrelevant,” said Harry, a sneer reaching his lips. The fact that Riddle knew about his personal life wasn’t good, it was a disaster as it cut out a method that he could use against Riddle. It was Longbottom’s fault, as per usual. He tapped his chin with his wand carefully and smiled towards Tom, a plan forming. “I know that James Potter hardly cares about my existence, I am not stupid. The moment I entered into Slytherin, he shoved me aside and started to throw around petty insults.”

“Trying to cover your insecurities, Potter?” sneered Tom. “You’re a lot like me, you know. Talented, good looking, ambitious, Slytherin, a strong desire to prove yourself to others. There’s plenty of others that could teach you rather than your pathetic, ignorant father.”

Harry rolled his eyes, something he had been doing rather often since he had been dragged into the Chamber by Ginny Weasley. He turned to look at Lockhart, his future slave and realised the man had vanished off to somewhere. ‘As long as he doesn’t drown, then it’ll be alright.’

“Ginny!” said Ron, looking at his sister with wide wyes. “Look, Neville, she’s getting up!”

Harry twisted around, shock appearing on his face as Weasley shouldn’t be getting up from her current state of severe possession, even if she was as powerful as Dumbledore and Merlin combined. He watched the girl slowly stand, her eyes trained on Neville as if he was her saviour and a smirk appeared on her face that gave it all away. Tom Riddle had taken control of Ginny’s body.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, so suddenly that none of them could’ve prepared for what happened next. The expression on Neville Longbottom’s face morphed into something akin to fierce hatred and a small amount of understanding. Ronald Weasley, however, was just as clueless as always and had no idea that it wasn’t his sister standing before them.

“N-Neville, what’re you doing?” said Ginny, her tone shaky. “It’s m-me, Ginny!”

“Neville!” barked Ron. “That’s Ginny! My sister!”

“You’ll have to kill her, Longbottom,” said Harry, studying the situation with rapt interest. “If he’s already possessed her, then there’s nothing you can do to save her.”

“You’re lying, Harry! You’ve gotta be,” said Neville, clutching the red and gold sword tightly in his hands. “We can save her, I know we can.”

“She’s possessed, Longbottom, nothing you can do to save her,” said Harry. “Stab her with the sword and put her out of her misery. I’m sure she won’t hold it against you when she dies, instead, she’ll thank you.”

“Shut up, Potter!” roared Ron, his fists clenched. “You may kill people, but we don’t! We’re gonna save her, you hear me? We’re gonna save her!”

“I haven’t killed anyone, Weasley,” said Harry, leaning against the statue of Salazar Slytherin. “It’s rather selfish of you, Weasley, to ask to save one person and put thousands of others at risk. I’ve studied possessions for a while, curious, even more so when I realised that your sister displayed all the symptoms, and I learned that it’s impossible to break a possession unless the host deems it so. I doubt that Riddle would willingly let your pathetic sister go. She’s as good as dead. You may as well make her death on your own terms and save the world another war, hm.”

“I-I’m not possessed! I swear it! Tell him, Ron!”

“Hear that? She’s not possessed! That’s my sister’s voice.”

Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Just because she’s possessed doesn’t mean that she’d start speaking in Riddle’s voice, that’s not how possession works. That could work if there was Riddle and then another host as they’d be separate entities. In this situation, they’re essentially the same and Riddle knows everything about Ginny, every little detail of her life. Riddle _is_ Ginny Weasley.”

“You only know this ‘cos you read it in all your Dark Arts books!”

“Actually, Weasley, the information is in the Restricted Section in the library,” said Harry. “I’m sure your friend Granger has read up on it in detail, she has a tendency to read everything with her know-it-all attitude. No matter what’s being discussed, she’ll put her piece in, no matter how unwanted and unneeded it is.”

“So, Potter, how do you break a possession?” said Ginny, looking rather amused. “I assume you read the same exact book that I did.”

“I’m sure that we did read the same book,” said Harry. “The one with the ripped page on chapter three hundred and twenty-two?”

“Yes!” said Ginny, looking delighted. “The destruction of books upsets me and I vowed to destroy whoever did it.”

Harry grinned, the same gleam in his eyes. “I agree –” he paused when he heard a gasp from the male Weasley. “What, Weasley? Don’t just gasp at me mid-sentence.”

“You’re agreeing with – with You-Know-Who!”

“Finally realised that your sister isn’t in there at all? Whatever shall we do, Weasley?”

“Well, my sister wouldn’t ever talk about a book and treat ‘em so carefully, y’know, she was ripping them up when she was four or five,” said Ron, ignoring the glare from his sister, currently being possessed by You-Know-Who, and Potter, who treated books as if they were small children. “But I don’t care, Potter, we’ll save Ginny somehow and she’ll be alive at the end of it. Neville’s beat You-Know-Who once, he can do it again.”

Harry smiled. “I agree, so we best get started as I don’t want to miss the exams because your idiotic sister dragged me here,” he said as he throw out a Summoning Charm at the sword and began walking towards the possessed Ginny Weasley. “I think if we stab her with the sword, it’ll kill her – I mean it’ll kill Riddle.”

“NO!”

Harry ignored the fact that Longbottom, Riddle, and Weasley all shouted the same thing as the sword of Godric Gryffindor spun through the air, the sound of it whistling following behind it, howling as if the blade was cutting through it. He was glad that the sword summoned handle side up, that way he didn’t cut off his arm. He grasped the handle and lifted it into a stabbing position, much like a wand movement.

Neville yelped when the sword was retched from his hands, unaware that it could be summoned, nor did he know that Harry knew the spell. He’d have to remember that in case anything was suddenly yanked from his hands in the future. He wouldn’t put it past Harry to randomly summon things from him, such as his books or his quill.

Harry prepared himself to stab the girl, knowing that this was better for everyone. He ignored Weasley’s cries and focused on stopping You-Know-Who from coming back and threatening his mother with his prejudice. That wouldn’t happen if he could help it. He ignored the slightly burning sensation in his hands, putting it down to nervousness at his first kill.

As it turned out, the burning sensation wasn’t nerves, nor was it any sort of issue on Harry’s end. Instead, it was something that Godric had done to the thing and Harry dropped it as if it had burned him, which it had, greatly so.

He stared at his hands and then twisted to the sword, which was still clanging from the power that he had thrown it at the ground in shock. He noted that Riddle had the same look on his face. “What the hell?”

“Ha!” barked Ron, laughing, “you can’t use Godric’s sword if you’re evil. Gryffindor wouldn’t allow you to do that in his house. Gryffindor has no evil people in it.”

“That’s awfully black and white of you, Weasley,” snapped Harry. “It’s most likely due to the fact that I’m in Slytherin and Godric charmed it to burn a Slytherin whenever wielded by one. Awfully pathetic of the man, to be honest. It could also burn Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws – or maybe it’ll only work for the person who summoned it, in this case, Neville, so stab her, Neville.”

“Neville’s not evil, so it wouldn’t burn him.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “There’s no good or evil, Weasley, you either choose to be great and accomplish your own goals or you choose to help fulfil someone else’s,” he said, glaring at the sword. “If you didn’t neglect history, you’d know that most, and I mean that in all, wizards and witches held no labels to magic and practiced any branch that they could.”

“Slytherin was a dark and evil wizard,” said Ron, glaring.

“I’m fairly certain that Salazar Slytherin was white.”

“What?” spluttered Ron, looking rather confused about the situation.

“Honestly, Weasley, sometimes you can be so clueless about everything,” said Harry, ignoring the snort coming from Riddle. “You know that everyone is capable or murder, not just Slytherins, right? I mean with the nonsense that you sprout off, you make it seem like Slytherin is where all the evil people go and Gryffindor is where all the good go. Everyone. Is. Capable. Of. Murder, Weasley, only those with the _courage_ to go through with it succeed. I needn’t explain that courage is a Gryffindor trait, right? I mean, I’m twelve, Weasley, I’m far from evil, no matter how stupid and short-sighted you are.”

The mouth on the statute of Salazar Slytherin shook open, filling the Chamber with the sounds of cobblestone crashing against cobblestone. The Chamber shook for a moment before everyone went still and silent. Within a few seconds the hissing of the basilisk filled the Chamber, causing all but occupant to squeeze their eyes closed in fear.

“ **Filthy humans in my nest**!”

Harry’s lips formed into a smile, especially when the basilisk splashed her tail into the water, spraying all the occupants, except him, with water. He glanced upwards when he heard the trill of the Headmaster’s phoenix. He wasn’t foolish like Voldemort, he knew that the thing could prove to be an issue for the basilisk, no matter how old and intelligent the basilisk is. The phoenix is simply older and has a more pronounced history. The blasted bird is immortal, unlike the basilisk.

“ **Filthy fire bird, leave my nest before I crush you**!” hissed the basilisk, swinging its tail at the best, slamming into the ground, spraying the humans with debris in the process.

Harry looked at the blood seeped from the fall form of Longbottom and made a split-second choice. “ **You must leave** ,” he hissed, ignoring the cries from Ginny, telling him to make it kill Longbottom. “ **Allow me to cleanse them for you, but you must flee before more wizards come and threaten your home, you’re naught but a myth to them, stay that way, please**!”

“ **As you wish, Hatchling** ,” hissed the basilisk, staring at her master. “ **I don’t like it, but I’ll allow you to deal with it**.”

“ **I’m a genius, you beautiful creature, I’ll be fine** ,” said Harry, grinning. “ **I do, however, have a request, stab that sword right there and coat it with as much venom as you can. I have an idea**.”

Neville woke up, dazed, and looked around the Chamber, realising that the basilisk had come out and flung them around with its tail. He saw the basilisk as it drove one of its large fangs into the sword of Godric Gryffindor, a green substance coating the sword in the process. He clenched his eyes shut when he feared that the thing would look at him and kill him. It was hard to ignore the whimpers of Ron next to him.

Harry stared in awe as the sword repaired itself, sucking in the basilisk venom as if it was drinking it. A bright, blinding scarlet light flashed in the Chamber, knocking him over with the blast of light. It was only his quick reflexes that allowed him to land on his bottom and not smash his head into the cobblestone. He quickly stood, ignoring the wet feeling, not wanting to sit on the damp ground like a common peasant, and glanced at the sword, hoping to see a large hole in the blade. The sword was in perfect condition, as if it’d just been made. ‘Bloody hell,’ he thought, surprised, ‘the damn thing repaired itself. Bravo, Godric, bravo.’

“Bloody hell!” swore Ron, opening his eyes when Neville whispered that it was safe. He picked himself up and looked around the Chamber, confused. “Did you see how big that bloody snake was? Merlin!”

“No need to swear, Weasley,” chided Harry, grasping his wand loosely. He wondered what he should do and whether he should inform Longbottom that Dumbledore’s phoenix was staring at Riddle’s diary as if it was evil. “Get up, you fools! What kind of heroes do you think you are? Sitting on your butts while I do all the work, trying to save the world.”

Ginny stood and dusted off her robes, glancing around the Chamber. “I’ll see you dead, Potter!”

Ron cheered for his sister and threatening a Slytherin, even the nudge from Neville didn’t wipe the smile off his face. He realised far too late that it was You-Know-Who and not his sister and he swallowed loudly.

“Did I break your tea set or something _Weasley_?” said Harry, stressing the name. “Are you gonna cry and run to mummy, claiming that the big bad Harry broke it? How about I break your face!”

Ginny didn’t have enough time to block or dodge the spell and was hit in the face by a spell that literally broke something. The crunching of bones being broken echoed through the Chamber and it was only Riddle’s knowledge that allowed him to heal and mend it before the damage turned fatal. “Lucky shot, Potter, I’m not used to how slow this body is compared to my other one.”

Harry just smirked, proud that he had hurt Riddle with a charm that was to aid with the crushing of hard ingredients in cooking. He would have to thank his mother for that one later on. “If you wish to kill Voldemort, you’ll have to kill Ginny,” he said, sighing when he realised that both Weasley and Longbottom got a defensive look on their faces. “The possession has gone for to long for any means to dispel it.”

Ginny snorted. “A few more minutes and I’ll have the strength to kill all three of you,” she said. “Just a few… measly… minutes.”

Neville smiled at Fawkes, who trilled happily, and picked up the diary, the heated argument between Harry, Ron, and Tom Riddle was allowing him to do anything without being spotted. He was upset that Harry kept trying to enter his mind, most likely finding out something about how he and Ron got here. He had learned to break eye contact when he felt that foreign feeling in his head, but it still annoyed him. He wondered briefly what he should do with the blasted diary, whether he should destroy it or toss it into the water, hoping that it would go soggy and just break into nothing. He scratched his head, remembering that Ginny had tried that and it didn’t work. He looked at Fawkes, as if asking for help on how he should deal with it. Maybe, just maybe, if he broke the book, the possession would also break.

“Once I get out of here, Potter, I’ll tie you up in the Great Hall, and then I’ll find your stupid Mudblood mother and I’ll torture her right in front of you,” said Ginny, glaring. “Only once you beg and plead for her life will I turn my wand onto you and break all your fingers and then I’ll break your legs while your Mudblood mother cries for you. I will then kill her and uri –”

Harry saw red and instantly flicked his wand, shouting the Cutting Curse. He watched as a thin line slashed across Ginny’s face, blood slipping from the cut.

“What the hell, Potter?” shouted Ron. “Don’t attack my sister!”

Ginny spluttered on the blood that slowly dripped down her face before wiping it with the sleeve of her robes. “Even if I fail, which won’t happen, you won’t get Dittany in time and this poor cut will be across poor Ginny’s face for life… maybe I won’t kill her when I get a new body, simply so she has a disfigured face for life.”

“Destroy the diary, Longbottom, you useless fat –”

“Shut up, POTTER!” yelled Ron. “Don’t you dare talk or I’ll stun you!”

Harry clenched his hands into fists and pointed his wand at Weasley, sending him flying across the Chamber. “Don’t speak to your betters, Weasley,” he snapped. “Longbottom, stab it with Godric’s sword. STAB IT!”

“Why?” asked Neville, shaking slightly.

“Riddle is a memory, Longbottom, a memory preserved in a diary,” said Harry. “What’d happen if that diary just so happened to be destroyed? The memory would also be destroyed.”

“You wouldn’t dare even to try. Nothing, I repeat nothing, can destroy that diary, I made sure of it.”

“Arrogance,” hissed Harry. “You threaten my mother and I’ll find a way to destroy you. It just so happens that I’m a quick thinker and a genius. Say goodbye, Voldemort.”

Neville swallowed and picked up Godric’s sword, smiling as Fawkes trilled happily, and drove the sword straight through the diary. He screwed up his face when the dairy started bleeding black ink everywhere. He looked up to see bright light flashing through Ginny and watched as she fell to the ground in a heap, her face still bleeding.

* * *

Harry sat in the office of the headmaster, a scowl on his face, listening to Longbottom ramble on about his Chamber and what happened in it. Fawkes had got them out of the Chamber in record speed, sadly, it took Lockhart as well, and they appeared in the Headmaster’s office. It hadn’t taken long for the Weasley family to come and whisper words of encouragement to their son and daughter, who had been given treatment by Madam Pomfrey and told sadly that the cut on her face would scar.

“Miss. Weasley will be fine, Molly,” soothed the worried mother, even though the daughter was in the room, Molly was frantic. “The spell she was hit with did no major damage and will just leave a nasty cut, which I’m afraid cannot be healed as it’s been there far too long.”

Molly sniffed loudly, clutching her daughter tightly.

“If not for Neville’s quick thinking, I’m afraid that Miss. Weasley may not have lived to see tomorrow.”

Harry gave Longbottom a bitter look. “We all know, at least those with brains, that it was I who saved Ginny Weasley. Longbottom getting the credit is far from fair, headmaster.”

“You?” spluttered Ron, outraged. “It’s your fault she’s got that cut across her face! You’re the one that reacted and got angry like a little child!”

“Shut up, Weasley, I was defending myself from Voldemort! I wasn’t going to just stand there and allow him to attack me, unlike you.”

“Me?” said Ron, his face bright red, his breathing erratic. “How dare you!”

“Be quiet, you failure!” hissed Harry. “You have no idea what went on in the Chamber, you just sat on the ground sobbing like the failure wizard you are. Professor Lockhart was more helpful than you were and he done nothing at all. All you did was taunt me and attempt to ruin any plan I made. Lucky that I’m a genius and level-headed and knew how to control the situation.”

“You’re not level-headed, Potter, you act without thinking, as Hermione put it.”

“You’re so stupid that you cannot use your own words,” said Harry. “Don’t talk to me, your intelligence is lower than that oaf Hagrid’s and that’s saying something, seeing as he’s about as smart as an ogre.”

“Mr. Potter –”

“Don’t insult Hagrid!”

“I’ll insult who I please,” said Harry, lifting his chin. “It was me that did everything in that Chamber. It was I, Harry Potter, who told Longbottom how to defeat Voldemort. It was I, Harry Potter, who distracted Voldemort and allowed Longbottom to get the diary unopposed. It was I, Harry Potter, who did everything in that Chamber. You’re not a hero, Weasley, you’re a failure. You clearly lack _courage_ to do anything.”

“I’ll show you courage, Potter, it’ll be my fist pushing your teeth down your throat!”

“You even dare to and touch me with your filthy, unwashed hands and you’ll regret it, Weasley,” snapped Harry, glaring. “I’d threaten to punch you in the mouth, but making contact with your mouth gives me the chills. Your mouth is disgusting, you really should stop smiling.”

“BOYS!”

Harry turned his head and glared at the headmaster.

The portraits in the room were startled awake with the shout. Those that were already awake watched on with renewed interest.

“This is no time for fighting –”

“No one is fighting, headmaster, I am simply putting Weasley in his place.”

“Mr. Potter, I am at the end of my patience with you,” said Dumbledore, his eyes hardened slightly. He cleared his throat and turned towards Neville. “What interests me most is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

“I just explained that!” snapped Harry. “It was the book, the same very book that a pure-blood should know to avoid. Honestly a book that writes back to you is a massive give-away that the book isn’t just a book.”

“It was this diary… Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen,” muttered Neville, softly, speaking before anyone could start an argument with Harry about it.

Dumbledore took the diary from Neville and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages. “Brilliant. Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.” He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered. He ignored the annoyed look on Harry Potter’s face. “Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school… travelled far and wide… sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognisable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”

“But Ginny, what’s our Ginny got to do with – with – him?” said Mrs. Weasley instantly, her eyes wide, and her fear written all over her face. She ran one of her hands idly through her daughter’s hair.

“His d-diary!” sobbed Ginny, ignoring the flash of pain as she spoke, the spell she was hit with vanishing enough so she could speak, thanks to the headmaster. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year –”

“Because you’re an idiot, Weasley, which doesn’t surprise me with how stupid Ronald is,” snapped Harry, glaring at the girl. “Your foolish actions could’ve single handily allowed Lord Voldemort to return, putting him in the heart of the school. If it wasn’t for I, Harry Potter, you would be dead and so would your family.”

“Mr. Potter –”

“All because you have some sort of crush on Longbottom, you put the school danger,” continued Harry. “You should be expelled, your wand snapped, and banished into the Muggle world.”

“Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, his tone calm. “This is the last time that I’m going to ask you to remain quiet and to stop insulting other students.”

Harry glared at the headmaster.

“He’s right, Albus, in a sense, he is correct,” said Arthur, ignoring the gasp from his wife. He was flabbergasted at the sheer thought that his daughter could do something foolish. “Ginny, haven’t I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain. Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!”

“I d-didn’t know,” sobbed Ginny. “I found it inside one of the books mum got me. I t-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it –”

“This has been a terrible ordeal for Miss. Weasley. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort,” said Dumbledore as he strode over to the door and opened it. “Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up. You will find that Madam Pomfrey is giving out Mandrake juice – I dare say the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“Mr. Potter, perhaps it would be prudent if we began to head towards the Slytherin common room,” said Professor Snape. “Mr. Malfoy is starting to drive half of Slytherin mad with his questions and constant whining about your absence.”

“I guess,” said Harry, shrugging his shoulders in the process. “There’s no real point in me staying here, to be honest, seeing as neither my mother or father bothered to see if their only son was fine.”

Dumbledore sent the boy a look that said everything.

Harry sat back down, huffing, and watched as the headmaster allowed Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall to depart with whispered words. He decided that he would glare at the desk and that would be how he would get out the anger and irritation that was surging through him.

Dumbledore sat down in his chair, his colourful robes twisting around him as he sat. He turned towards Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom with one of his kind smiles. “I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules,” he said, watching in amusement as Ron Weasley’s mouth began to open in horror. “Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words. You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and – let me see – yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor.”

“Standing around sobbing nets you a special award and two hundred points?” said Harry, looking rather sour. “If my maths is correct, and it is, that’d put Gryffindor forty points ahead, moving them from last, where they belong, to first. That’s assuming that I, of course, get no points for being dragged into the Chamber by a possessed Gryffindor, who was aiding Voldemort return –”

“She wasn’t helping him return!”

“Don’t interrupt me, Weasley!” snapped Harry. “The point is that this is just like last year, last minute points given to Gryffindor for some unknown reason. I do feel as if this is becoming a repeating thing, perhaps you feel like the saviour, Longbottom, needs to win at everything to maintain his hero façade.”

“Envy isn’t an attractive trait, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, holding up his aged hand, stopping the boy from speaking or interrupting. “While each story is explained differently, perhaps a little bias in each, yours is the foggiest out of all of them. You never did explain how you betrayed the heir of Slytherin and how come Tom never called the basilisk to come and aid him.”

“Weasley asked for my aid with the Chamber and I refused to help her as she was quite obviously delirious. I had no idea that it was Voldemort parading around in the body and mind of a pure-blood child. It’s my duty, as a Slytherin, to aid the heir, no matter what, hence my betrayal.”

“I’m sure that’s not all.”

“Ginny Weasley, who was possessed by the Dark Lord, Voldemort, stunned me when I turned away. I’m talented, the brightest student who has ever stepped foot in this school, but I don’t have the knowledge or reflexes to beat a Dark Lord,” said Harry. “The plan was to leave me in the Chamber and escape with the two heroes, claiming that it was I who had attacked her and she was certain it’d work, as no one trusts a Slytherin. After Riddle escaped, he would’ve finished the year and then killed the Weasley family and using them in a ritual to get his body back.”

“I see. I see,” said Dumbledore, staring at Harry Potter with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “I do have the feeling that you’re leaving a vast amount of detail out of your story. It doesn’t help when your ability in Occlumency is far beyond anything I’ve ever seen, even surpassing Tom Riddle, who had rather powerful walls when he was in his fifth-year.”

“Occlumency hasn’t been studied, especially because it’s seen as a trait belonging to the Dark Arts, which is stupid as it’s nothing but magic,” said Harry, looking at Dumbledore. “I guess it’s because the Ministry fears if people learn to keep secrets, then nothing’ll go right for them.”

“The Ministry fears the talent for a multitude of reasons, Mr. Potter, not because they wish to deny magic, as you’re implying,” said Dumbledore, peering over his half-moon glasses. “Now, Mr. Potter, tell me what you think is the correct reward for Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Weasley are.”

Harry placed his index finger on his chin and made a show of humming as if in deep thought. “Longbottom, as much as it pains me, does deserve at least some points as it was him who summoned your phoenix, which bought the Sorting Hat, and gave me the idea to actually stab the diary, but aside from that, he didn’t do much else besides argue with me about matters that hardly mattered. As I said before, headmaster, it was me who did everything. I had to shout at him to stab the diary as he just stood there, looking saddened at the fact that Ginny was dying.”

“And?”

“And Longbottom held the diary for an extended period of time and never turned it in,” said Harry, sending Longbottom a smug grin. “Weasley I can forgive for not turning it in as she’s pathetic and most likely needed the support of a close friend, but Longbottom had zero reason to write in a diary that wrote back.”

“It’s not like I knew that Riddle was Voldemort, Harry,” said Neville. “And I did do research on him and I learned that he was at the school when the Chamber had last opened. I needed information so I could get Hagrid released.”

“You should’ve handed it in regardless of what you wanted to do, Longbottom, your actions are worse than Weasley’s as you held the book with a fresh state of mind and did nothing about it.”

“Enough!” said Dumbledore, his tone still clam, but his eyes flashed a little. “What about Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Harry nodded. “Nothing.”

“I see,” said Dumbledore. “What about for moral support and his aid at getting Mr. Longbottom into the Chamber? There’s a lot of things that happened during the lead up, Mr. Potter.”

“Fine,” snapped Harry. “Maybe ten or so points for just being there and making Longbottom have two people to save instead of one. If you do award him any points, be sure to remove the same, if not more, from Ginny Weasley for her foolish actions.”

“Any objections?” said Dumbledore, turning to face the two Gryffindors. “Nope? Excellent. The points will be rewarded just before the leaving feast, as we’re running out of time and I’d like to end the year with a happy thought.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it, my boy, you’ll also receive an award to the school for being the one to defeat Tom Riddle,” said Dumbledore, turning back towards Harry Potter. “You, Mr. Potter, will receive the same, except for the fact that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom will share their plaque, whereas you’ll be getting your own. Are these conditions fair?”

“Indeed. I would like for my plaque to be hidden in the corner, out of view. There’s no need to publically display my achievements, nor do I wish for people to comment about them constantly.”

Dumbledore went a slight shade paler. “Of course, of course.”

“If that’s all, headmaster, I would like to go and re-join my fellow Slytherins and tell them about the wonderful adventure I had,” said Harry. “I’d also like to soothe Draco, who is most likely scratching at the walls or something as dramatic.”

“Before you leave, Mr. Potter, could you perhaps hand me that sword that Professor Lockhart is holding?” said Dumbledore, his tone clam and his facial expression relaxed.

Harry scowled at the floor as he spun around and yanked the sword out of the hands of Professor Lockhart. He swore if the blasted thing burned him again, he would toss it into the Black Lake. The moment his hand touched the hilt, the burning sensation started and he practically tossed it at the headmaster, which caused Fawkes to let out a squawk and the portraits to chatter excitedly. “Stupid sword,” he muttered, shifting towards the door.

“Do you know why the sword burns you when you wield it, Mr. Potter?” asked Dumbledore, studying the sword of Godric Gryffindor closely. “I must admit, it’s curious. I remember your father being able to summon the thing to him with a single thought, seeing as your family has Gryffindor blood in them. It should’ve been you, not Neville, who summoned the sword.”

“No, headmaster, I don’t know why it burns me,” said Harry, glaring. “I assumed it was because I was in Slytherin and I wouldn’t put it past Godric to do something as petty and childlike as that.”

Dumbledore smiled. “But of course, how would you know. Very well then, Mr. Potter, have a pleasant day. I must thank you though, you know what for.”

Harry retreated from the Headmaster’s office, not daring to look back.

“Do you know why it burned Harry, sir?” asked Neville, slightly confused. “It happened in the Chamber as well.”

“I believe that the sword reacts badly to anyone who has any sort of Ill-intentions,” said Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter obviously wished to hurt someone using the sword and it’s simply heating, magically, and pushing a burning sensation outwards, making the holder drop the sword.”

“How come his hand wasn’t actually burned?”

“Because the burning sensation is done by mind, not actual harm,” said Dumbledore. “No matter how strong Mr. Potter may be mentally, the pain will get through instantly.”

“So it did burn him because he’s evil!” said Ron, a sound of triumph in his voice.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Not exactly, Mr. Weasley, I believe that even a stray thought could influence the sword, making it react badly to him – or maybe Mr. Potter was correct and it only heats because he’s in Slytherin.”

* * *

Justin flew around the corner at a breakneck speed and collided with a body in front of him, sending the both of them toppling on the ground. He groaned and blinked, noticing that he had knocked over the person he was looking for. “Sorry about that, Harry,” he said, standing. “I was just looking for you! I just wanted – I just wanted to thank you! We all know what you did in the Chamber and how much you helped Longbottom and such.”

Harry smiled, not even noticing that Justin was standing very close to him, his hands clenched into his robes, slightly twisting them. “It’s no issue, Ernie, I vowed that I’d deal with whoever petrified you.”

Justin blushed and took a small step back, releasing Harry’s robes. “I just wanted to say thanks,” he said. “And I heard that Professor Lockhart lost his memory… how dreadful!”

“I know, it was such a shock to learn that a knock around the head caused him to lose all his memory, but at least it was when he was diving into the Chamber of Secrets to save students,” said Harry, giving Justin a sad look. “I’m glad you’re fine now. You missed a fair bit, isn’t it lucky that the exams were cancelled?”

“Don’t sound so bitter, Harry,” said Justin, laughing. “I’m sure the headmaster will allow you to take the exams if you asked him. Just ask Professor Snape for the stuff that you need and he, as your head of house, will go and retrieve it for you. I’m sure that most professors are still doing them, actually… Madam Pomfrey said that you could.”

“May just do that, Justin, thank you,” said Harry, smiling. “I’ll let you go now, I’m sure you want to go and surprise Ernie.”

Justin clasped Harry’s hand, holding it for a minute, and shook it, smiling. “Thanks, Harry, I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Of course,” said Harry, watching the brown-haired boy flee the corridor, his face slightly red. He twisted around and began walking towards the Slytherin common room, forgetting that the password would’ve been changed in the few hours that he’d been taken. He wondered whether Parseltongue wouldn’t open it, seeing that he was sure that Salazar would’ve had Parseltongue overrides for almost everything.

“HARRY!”

Harry blinked as he was assaulted by a blond blur and then pushed against the wall by the same blur. “Draco?” he asked, confused.

“How dare you get kidnapped!” hissed Draco. “How dare you! I was so worried.”

“I didn’t get kidnapped on purpose, Draco.”

“How’d Weasley, of all people, best you in a duel?”

“She was possessed, by the Dark Lord,” whispered Harry. It was useless to say ‘Voldemort’ in here, half the common room seemed to have sensitive ears to that name and instantly chimed in, the same with ‘You-Know-Who’. “That was how I was caught. I dodged the first Stunning Spell, but the second one hit home before I had even turned to face her.”

“Well, at least you dodged one, that’s good enough!” said Draco, finally releasing Harry from the hug, he took a step backwards and almost tripped over a nearby chair. “Tell me everything that happened! Mother and father are equally as worried, they heard you were taken.”

And so Harry did, he explained everything that happened, in perfect detail.

* * *

Harry sat in the Great Hall, staring at the wooden Slytherin table, ignoring the empty banners and the gems that were in the hourglasses just behind the staff. He didn’t really care if Slytherin won or not, he just liked making Dumbledore do more work. The entire student body were waiting for the headmaster to stand and declare the winner of the fabled House Cup for that year. Despite the certain faces on the Slytherins, he knew that the headmaster was going to give Gryffindor a lot of points, as well as making it a massive deal.

“Much like last year, I have a few last minute points to give out,” said Dumbledore, smiling at the students. He spoke dramatically, causing many students to lean forwards in anticipation. “Firstly, I would like to award two hundred points to Neville Longbottom, of Gryffindor, for courage and doing the school a favour that will be remembered for many, many years. I am quite certain that the details of Mr. Longbottom’s adventure have already been passed around.”

The Great Hall snickered.

“Secondly, I would like to award Ronald Weasley seventy-five points for assisting Mr. Longbottom in saving the school,” said Dumbledore, waiting for the clapping and cheering to stop. “And, finally, to Mr. Potter, will gain the same amount as Mr. Longbottom for the same reasons. House unity is an important thing, so I’m offering every house an extra thirty points in light of the events and how we all stuck together.”

“I told him not to make a scene when I took my exams…”

“Finally, Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Weasley will be receiving an award to the school, as will Mr. Potter. The awards can be located in the third-floor corridor, in the trophy room.”

“That was a rather long speech,” muttered Draco softly. He glanced at the owls that all flew to the headmaster. “Oh, what now?”

The headmaster plucked each letter from the owls and watched them with twinkling eyes as they flew out the windows. “What timing!” he said, waving the letters. “As you know, many students still took their exams, despite the events that had occurred. I am proud to say that all seventh-years completed their N.E.W.T.s! The Ministry has informed me that the highest student was none other than Mr. Potter.”

Harry stood, bowed, and then sat back down, ignoring all the attention with ease. “Of course I got the highest scores,” he said to Draco. “I’m a genius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could have been split into two chapters...
> 
> Go and enjoy binge reading 8 chapters of book 3. (leave comments, pl0x.)


End file.
